Of All the Times, Places, and People!
by Eratta
Summary: Complete Just realized that a chapter was missing! What happens when T&T are stuck together on a planet? Had to reload everything, so unfortunately all reviews were lost. BAH!
1. Default Chapter

A/N: Yay! Finally, I've found the time to start this story! I deserve credit just for that, considering both Matrix Reloaded AND Down With Love came out last weekend. But instead of going out to see those, I relaxed after one of the most stressful weeks of my life and began this story. I'm quite pleased actually, since this has been floating around in my brain for close to 6 months now. But I have a thing about writing more than one story at a time, and that's why the debut is so late. A thousand apologies.  
  
A/N: Okay, enough about that. This story is a definite T/T, but I'm thinking it will be more witty and about personal discovery than smut. Be assured, smut can be good, but I'm not in the mood for that kind of thing right now. But hey, that may change as the story goes on. Also, there have been quite a few "away-missions gone wrong" lately, and this is to ensure that the idea is entirely my own and that I have not been influenced by other writers. As I said before, I've been developing this idea for a few months now. Anyway, thanks for your attention and now on with the story!!!  
  
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Dammit. Dammit Dammit Dammit! Why does this have to happen to me? Why me, of all people? Why can't things go my way, just once?  
  
Lost in his own self misery, Trip Tucker failed to notice his returning companion. He was sitting on the edge of a murky pond, wringing water out of his dirty uniform. 'Thank God I thought to bring an extra this time.' He thought to himself. He continued to twist his strong, large hands around the soggy material.  
  
A few meters away, his companion was silently taking readings on her tricorder. Things were not looking very good, to say the least. Glancing away from the electric blue lighting of the miniature instrument, she quickly surveyed her immediate surroundings. Absently, she wondered if Commander Tucker's question "Why Me?" didn't completely describe her own feelings about the situation.  
  
Being a Vulcan, she was never pleased to encounter a planet that was more water than land. She preferred the red, barren deserts to lush, green tropics such as this. And being marooned, with limited food and little equipment, and with a human as unpredictable as she was logical, was not her ideal situation.  
  
Trip's thoughts were not too different T'Pol's. Watching her out of the corner of his eye, he instantly had an idea of just how much of a pain she could become. Though they had long since established a truce of sorts, she could still manage to exasperate him, probably even unintentionally. They could be out here for days, and he might be forced to put up with her superior Vulcan moods. They had become rarer, but every now and then she turned back into a typical Vulcan. This was definitely not good, he thought. Why the hell am I always so eager to be on away teams?  
  
His suit was now only moist, so he tried to stand. Immediately, he fell back down, cursing himself as the pain shot through is calf and chest. T'Pol was immediately at his side with her tricorder, trying to find the damage to his body. He waited quietly as the pain faded into a dull throbbing under his skin. After a time, she lifted her large, intelligent brown eyes to his. Her look was as blank as ever.  
  
"You have cracked two ribs." She stated matter-of-factly.  
  
Trip frowned. "Well, that explains why it's so painful ta breathe, but my ankle hurts too." He winced at his tone. That sounded way too much like whining.  
  
T'Pol said nothing, but moved her instrument slowly over his ankle.  
  
"It has been sprained, most likely from the crash."  
  
"Dammit." he growled, massaging his aching ankle, which was swelling quite nicely.  
  
T'Pol rose and moved away; pausing by the smoky little fire they had built. The wood here was too wet to burn properly, and she shivered despite herself. Her body was not built for conditions like this. Moving on into the overturned shuttlepod, she located the emergency medical kit. Bringing it back to the injured and irritable man, she gingerly sank to his level, balancing on her heels. She opened the kit, looking for the gauze and bandage. Locating them, she lifted up the roll of gauze and moved towards Trip's ankle. He shrunk away instinctively. He never liked others treating him, even when it was someone he trusted.  
  
"I can do that." He said quickly.  
  
"Individuals often do not treat their injuries as they should."  
  
"I can take care a' myself." He replied loftily. But the look in her eyes told him that she wasn't going to take 'no' for an answer. He couldn't really put his finger on it, but she had this . . . this LOOK that made you want to comply with whatever she said, even if it wasn't an order. She rarely used it, but this was one of those rare moments that had him wishing he was back in his own quarters, where she couldn't use it.  
  
Reluctantly, he rolled his cuff up where they could both see the purple and blue bruises decorating the swollen flesh. Her hand reached for it, and he stiffen instinctively. But surprisingly, she was very gentle about it. She lifted his foot, wrapped it with cotton, and then wrapped the gauze securely over it. Her warm fingertips felt wonderful on his clammy skin, and he was almost sorry she stopped.  
  
"Thanks." He mumbled.  
  
"You are welcome" she returned.  
  
Trip looked at her quizzically. She had never said THAT before. Usually, a nod or a flicker of the eyes was all she would acquiesce to. Shaking his head at the mystery that was female behavior, Trip turned away and focused on the problem at hand.  
  
'Okay,' he told himself, 'here's the cold hard facts: We lost navigation, but we don't know how. Every other system was workin' just fine, but for some reason, there was a bug in the nav system. T'Pol found the planet with a breathable atmosphere, and we made an emergency landing.'  
  
He stopped the internal investigation to look at the little cylinder next to him. 'This is the emergency beacon, which is our best bet fer locatin' the Cap'n and the ship. It doesn't look damaged, so why won't it work?'  
  
He frowned and wiped a dirty, damp sleeve across his face. The engineer in him was screaming in frustration, but he would never give T'Pol the opportunity to comment on his 'excessive' human emotionalism. But what was he supposed to do? He didn't bring any tools with him because this mission was purely for scientific reasons. He had no reason for going along except to give T'Pol a hand. This was not good. Definitely not good. Damn.  
  
"How goes the diagnosis?" The lovely Vulcan asked softly.  
  
Trip shot her an irritated look. She may not have deserved it, but he wasn't going to pretend that he was happy with the situation.  
  
"Not good. I don't know what's wrong with the damn thing, and even if I did, there's nothin' I can do about it!"  
  
She looked up from her readings. Her face was blank, but something passed across her eyes that a man like Tucker wouldn't miss. Was she worried? 'Hell,' he though, 'If Our Lady of Logic is worried, I may as well start diggin' our graves!'  
  
"You have no tools?"  
  
"Of course I don't have my tools!" He said in vexation. "I was only on this mission ta help you out with yer science stuff. Not to mention getting' a little break, for a change."  
  
He broke off, and ran a tired hand through his hair. Hazarding a glance at T'Pol, he was surprised to notice that she looked pretty uncomfortable. He realized that no matter how uncomfortable he was, it must be much worse for her. From what he knew, Vulcans weren't too keen on tropical places. He softened with that thought. 'She wasn't bein' mean or anything, and I've been a jerk.'  
  
"Look," he sighed, turning back to face her seated form. "Maybe it's just a . . . a little wet. Once it dries out a bit, it'll work an' we can contact Enterprise."  
  
It was a bluff, but he figured a bluff was better than nothing. To his mild dismay, she didn't seem convinced at all. He could see her digesting the possibility, and then came the inevitable raising of the eyebrow which signaled her discovery of a flaw in his theory.  
  
"In that case," she began seriously "It seems highly likely that it will never work. This entire planet is tropical and wet."  
  
"Yeah, well . . ." As Trip cast around for ideas to counter that, he glanced at the sky. The two green moons were rising; one was already high in the sky and the other was just barely visible above the mountains.  
  
'Wait just a cotton-pickin' minute,' he mind mused. 'That might be it!'  
  
"Correct me is I'm wrong, but aren't there mountains close by?"  
  
"If by close, you mean a few hundred kilometers, yes. What is your point?"  
  
"The atmosphere gets thinner the higher up ya go, right? So technically, if we can get to higher ground, then maybe this thing has a shot." He finished with a wide gesture to the beacon.  
  
"It's possible, but we do not know how thin the atmosphere will become."  
  
He rolled his eyes at her.  
  
"It's gotta be better than stayin here." She paused and looked away while Trip waited patiently. She had a far-away look in her eyes that told him she was thinking about what he had said, probably calculating the probability of his theory actually being correct.  
  
He had always been curious to know exactly how sophisticated Vulcan thinking was. They always hinted at being capable of 'high mental functions', but no one had ever told him what, exactly. Could they solve matrixes in their heads? Could they enter trances in which they could do God-knew-what? Or were they just making up bullshit to keep Earth in place?  
  
T'Pol turned back to him and calmly said,  
  
"I agree with that assessment. However, it is too late to start now, as the sun has already begun to set."  
  
Trip nodded. If she kept being this agreeable, maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. Silence hung between them for what seemed like an eternity, and finally Trip asked,  
  
"So, what have we got ta eat?"  
  
T'Pol didn't even bother to look up. She was deeply engrossed by something far more interesting than him, he thought wryly. He gingerly stood and crossed the short distance to the bin containing ready-made food. Opening it, he grimaced at the site. The only food to be found that wouldn't require the shuttlepod was little packets of oatmeal bars, nuts, pretzels, raisins, and other little things. Thank God there was plenty of water.  
  
"Watcha want?"  
  
"I am not hungry."  
  
He shrugged and fished a canteen and minimeal out of the bin. He munched on it quietly, trying not to think too hard about the dry, gritty taste.  
  
Meanwhile, T'Pol pursed her lips and thought. Surprising as it may be, there was solid logic behind Trip's words. There was nothing she could present as a valid argument against his theory. Wryly she noted that despite her carefully formulated opinion of him, he always seemed to 'throw her for a loop'. She raised her patient, wise eyes to his fiery blue ones.  
  
"Perhaps we should study the data we collected before sensors went offline."  
  
He nodded his head and busied himself with getting back to work. A comfortable silence was fostered between them, each working on their respective tasks. Notwithstanding the fact that both had analyzed more information then they could use, the repetitive motions were genuinely calming. It took the tension out of their situation. A good while later, as the last rays of the dying sun cast blood red shadows on them, T'Pol noticed a significant change in the sounds that she had been hearing all day. She looked up from her book of Vulcan philosophy and focused on them.  
  
Trip glanced away from his specs to find his companion staring at him. He narrowed his eyes at her, wondering why she staring so intently. He was about to speak when he realized that her eyes, though directed towards him, were not exactly focused on him. He shook his head and looked away, uncomfortably aware of her piercing gaze.  
  
Finally, T'Pol's eyes cleared and she stood. Trip turned around and asked the question that had been on his lips for a good while.  
  
"What the hell were you doin'?"  
  
She raised an eyebrow at his language. While she had long since been accustomed to his particularly unique dialect, she still had not yet learned to predict his moods or tones.  
  
"I was listening."  
  
"Oh." His face fell a little, but he couldn't understand why. What had he hoped she was doing? As if she could read his mind, the lovely woman asked that very question.  
  
"What did you think I was doing?"  
  
He stalled for time as he felt his face flush red. 'Damn it, Trip!' He told himself, 'You're a grown man and her equal; stop actin' like a seventh grader!'  
  
"Um, nothin'. What were you listenin' for?"  
  
"The wildlife has become more active."  
  
"Well sure, that's what usually happens, isn't it?"  
  
"Perhaps. However, this could signal that the indigenous carnivores are beginning to hunt."  
  
Trip was confused. In his experience, more wildlife noise meant less carnivores.  
  
"I think there may be a flaw to your logic." The formality of his tone was lost on the austere and stoic woman, whose current opinion of the man was strengthened by his rueful grin.  
  
"Perhaps I wasn't clear." She began as she went to the pod and removed a bedroll. "There isn't more noise, but subtler sounds have replaced the louder ones that were so prevalent earlier."  
  
"Subtler sounds?"  
  
"Leaves rustling underfoot, sudden silences. One might say the lack of noise punctuates the sounds of hunting."  
  
It only took Trip a minute to digest this information. Having gone on  
several safaris, he knew exactly what she was talking about. He was  
somewhat surprised that he himself hadn't heard it yet. But then, she  
had that supersonic hearing. He stood gingerly and moved to the pod,  
pulling out another bed roll as he said,  
  
"Then I guess one a' us should stay awake tonight."  
  
"Indeed." She replied, offering him the bedroll that she had previously extracted from the wreckage. Trip looked at her in confusion.  
  
"I will take the watch tonight." She said, correctly interpreting the source of his confusion.  
  
Trip frowned slightly, and then shrugged indifferently.  
  
"Okay, you'll wake me when it's my shift?"  
  
Now T'Pol was the one to look confused. The expression on her face did not change, but Trip was beginning to suspect that he was slowly becoming able to discern the understated changes in her face.  
  
"I meant that I would remain awake for the entirety of the night."  
  
If he had been speaking to anyone other than T'Pol, Trip would have been offended. He was raised to offer rest to a woman whenever the occasion called for it, and this was definitely one of those occasions. 'But,' he reasoned with himself, 'Vulcans don't know about that kinda thing.'  
  
"That's alright, I'm not tired anyway. I'll take the watch."  
  
"If we are to travel tomorrow, you should be rested." She deadpanned.  
  
"So should you." He countered. What was it about this woman! Couldn't she accept an act of courtesy like a normal person?  
  
"Vulcans require less sleep than Humans and I am not injured."  
  
Trip was getting frustrated now. She was treating him like a baby! It wasn't like he couldn't take care of himself! If she was afraid that he would slow them down tomorrow, she had another thing coming!  
  
"I don't need that much sleep and I'm not that badly injured!" He retorted hotly. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized that he shouldn't be getting so worked up over this. But he was tired, wet, stranded in the middle of the universe's nowhere, and he wasn't used to arguing with women.  
  
"Your mood betrays you." She replied coolly. Taking a seat on the cleared ground below her, she arranged her limbs into a lotus position, readying herself for meditation. Trip took several calming breaths, grabbed his bedroll, and settled himself across from her. If she wanted to do this the hard way, fine. He would show her that he could stay awake too.  
  
Nearly an hour later, T'Pol's eyes opened and rested on the form of Commander Tucker. As she had predicted, he had succumbed to sleep soon after lying down. Watching his chest rise and fall with an easy rhythm, she realized that her own breathing was slightly labored. Brushing the mild irritation away, she decided it must simply be the humidity. It certainly was nothing to be concerned about. Shifting herself into a more comfortable position, she took about a PADD that had been salvaged and began reviewing letters that she had downloaded onto it before embarking on the away mission. As she learned about new theories and discoveries begin made on her home planet, she carefully monitored the sounds of the swamp and the sleeping chief engineer. 


	2. 2

Archer drummed his fingers against the armrest of his chair. Things were not going well. And for the first time since their launch almost two years before, he was without his two most senior officers. Normally, he and T'Pol or he and Trip would get kidnapped or stranded somewhere. But this time, those two were the stranded ones! And he didn't like having to organize a rescue without Trip's moral support or T'Pol's surprisingly useful logic. He tried not to think about it too much, but little things reminded him of their absence. The gentle hum of the impulse engine, for example. Or the lack of sensor updates. T'Pol ALWAYS was sending him the latest data. He was sure she was aware that he hardly ever gave it more than a casual glance; trusting her to alert anything important or unusual to him in person. But still, the lack of those updates was disquieting. Putting the worrisome thoughts out of his head, he turned to his communications officer, who had been pulling a double shift since the shuttlepod's disappearance.  
  
Hoshi was leaning back in her chair, eyes half closed as she listened to the sounds of dead space. Behind her, a young ensign with a background in astrophysics was manning T'Pol's science consol. The thought of the quiet Vulcan was enough to send a wave of guilt through her, making her relive the terrifying moments over and over. The shuttle's disappearance had shown up on the sensors, but there hadn't been enough time to do anything about it. She hadn't even been able to clear the static from the emergency channel. And suddenly, the pod was off sensors and visual, hurtling towards a nearby planet. Immediately she had begun a sophisticated scan, searching for the pod's signature. But it would be hours before anything turned up, if at all.  
  
Archer looked sympathetically at the little Asian woman. He knew that look all too well. She had been the senior officer on the bridge at the time of the problem, and he knew that she hadn't stopped berating herself since.  
  
"Hoshi," he called softly, startling her out of the half-trance of misery and worry.  
  
"Yes, sir?"  
  
"Why don't you call it a day? You've been up here for two shifts. There's nothing we can do until the scans find the pod."  
  
Hoshi's large, almond shaped eyes smarted, and she took a calming breath before replying,  
  
"I prefer to keep working, sir. Otherwise, I feel that I haven't done my very best."  
  
Her captain gave her a little half smile. Hoshi always had liked how he had that disarming smile. It told you that he wasn't blaming you, and that he knew how you felt.  
  
"That's my point, Ensign. You've done your best and there's nothing you can do until the scans are complete. So stop worrying and get some rest."  
  
Hoshi hesitated for a moment, trying to decide what the most professional thing to do was. Finally, she returned his little smile and left the bridge. Archer leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He probably wouldn't take his own advice, but at least he had been able to make her feel better.  
  
"Sir." The young ensign at the science station ventured. He was a young man, but he looked and acted 10 years older. Subtly scrutinizing his face, Archer remembered his name. Thomas O'Connor: the astrophysics whiz kid. He was one of the youngest of Enterprise's crew, and one of the most intelligent and highly qualified. With a height of 6'3" and a large frame, he wasn't the typical math nerd. His jet-black hair was neatly combed and his well-proportioned face was clean-shaven. But it wasn't his looks that gave him an air of grave, studied maturity. It was the way he carried himself, the tone of his voice, and the self-assurance that seemed to permeate everyone around him. Archer's sources told him that a vast majority of the crew had come to regard O'Connor as a father-type figure; he was the person that everyone went to for advice. He was also T'Pol's primary assistant.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"If I may speak plainly sir, maybe you should take your own advice." Archer smiled. Not only was this kid smart, he was observant too. No wonder T'Pol had chosen him to be her stand-in.  
  
"I'm not worried, Ensign." He replied nicely, catching Thomas' eye. What the whiz kid did next almost sent him into a fit of laughter. He actually gave him the look affectionately dubbed, 'the T'Pol'. His eyebrow wasn't raised, but it definitely was that half amused, half serious expression that revealed that the wearer knew better, but was going to be diplomatic and go along with it. The kid had actually picked up her patented look! Suppressing the laughs, he continued,  
  
"Commander Tucker's one of the best pilots in the fleet and an amazing engineer, and T'Pol is probably the most intelligent person I know. They're safe from almost anything the universe can throw at them."  
  
"Except each other." Countered O'Connor knowingly, black eyes twinkling. He had heard his share of the gossip surrounding the famous conflicts between the two remarkably stubborn individuals, not to mention actually witnessing quite a few of them.  
  
Archer shook his head. That was probably truer than anything else. While he knew much of their previous 'encounters' had evolved into friendly banter, he knew that each could simultaneously provoke the other and return to earlier attitudes. He sincerely hoped they would reach them in time before they succumbed to the temptation to kill each other.  
  
Behind him, Ensign O'Connor smiled to himself. The captain did seem much more at ease. He made a mental note to tell the Vulcan the next time he saw her. It seemed that her methods were tried and true!  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
The following morning, Trip woke to the feeling of dank, squishy turf beneath him and an aching back. For a moment, he couldn't remember what had happened, and wondered how he had come to be in the Florida Everglades again. And then he caught sight of T'Pol fiddling with the emergency beacon, and it all came back to him. Including his plan to prove to her that he could in fact stay awake all night. Damn.  
  
"Good Morning." She said quietly, not even looking up from her work.  
  
Trip sat up with a groan and rubbed his back until the pain lessened. Maybe if he pretended that they had never argued about shifts, she would leave it alone.  
  
"Mornin'" he mumbled back, a bit sheepishly.  
  
"I trust you slept well?" There was no mockery in her tone, only polite concern.  
  
"Well enough." He said, inspecting his ankle. He had to hand it to his insistent companion; she had done a good job. The swelling had gone down and it wasn't nearly as painful as it had been the day before.  
  
"How are your injuries?" She asked, looking up for the first time. Trip noticed faint perspiration on her brow, and wondered how uncomfortable she must be in that skin-tight excuse for a uniform. His gaze traveled to her eyes, and he was astonished at how green they were today. There had always been a faint greenish tint to them, but it had never been this pronounced before. Momentarily lost in the pool of emerald, he could scarcely remember what she had asked. Tearing his eyes away, he took stock of himself. His chest still hurt when he inhaled too deeply, but other than that, he was okay.  
  
"Better than they were yesterday." He replied with a rueful grin.  
  
"How 'bout you? Are you still feelin' alright?" he asked in return, getting up to rummage in the food bin for their breakfast.  
  
"I am fine." She lied smoothly. Inwardly, she was slightly alarmed at how easily the lie came, but she knew it was the logical course of action. To tell the excitable man that she was having an increasingly hard time breathing was simply unacceptable. There was nothing they could do about it; even if they knew what the problem was (she had scanned herself several times, each with no result) and it would only worry him. She would simply have to conceal it for as long as possible. Putting the beacon away, she turned towards his offering of a granola bar, and graciously accepted it. Tucker sat across from her, gazing contemplatively at the beacon.  
  
"So," he said through a mouthful of oats and dried fruit, "Any luck?"  
  
"No. I was not trying to repair it."  
  
He looked puzzled and surprised "Then what were you doin'?"  
  
"I was merely occupying myself. I find the study of areas outside my expertise to be both stimulating and useful."  
  
He looked dubious, but at the same time, pleased. T'Pol had never actually expressed a actual interest in anything non-work related, to his knowledge. Who would've guessed? A happy grin spread across his unshaven face, and T'Pol felt herself succumb to the easiness he exuded. Regardless of the pointlessness of such an act, she felt that this was one of the few occasions in which she could be allowed to slightly relax her guard. Tucker was no threat, and she was feeling slightly weary. Surely there could be nothing wrong with fostering a stronger (though still entirely professional) relationship with him.  
  
"Really? I had no idea! What do you study?"  
  
"A variety of things: tactics, logistics, philosophy, and quantum engineering, to name a few."  
  
Trip suppressed a wry smile and ventured, "I never woulda put you down fer an engineerin' girl."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"I dunno," he shrugged. "Guess I never thought you'd be the type."  
  
"What . . . would you say denotes an engineer?" T'Pol parried, genuinely interested. This was another example of the Commander's 'gut instinct'. She had noticed that humans tended to categorize others based on various impressions, which may or may not always be based on facts. Interestingly, she had never really known what his instincts were about her.  
  
Trip squirmed, trying to put his thoughts into words. After a few seconds, he gave up and waved his large hand in defeat.  
  
"I can't really explain it. I have this . . . this thing where I feel that a person belongs to a certain group. I never figured you for MY group, even if the study of engineerin' is a hobby of yours."  
  
She regarded him for a moment, and turned her head slightly. The turn signaled that she was confused. Trip was caught up in her eyes again, and was vaguely aware that his breathing had become shallower. T'Pol didn't even blink as she softly replied,  
  
"What would you think if I told you that I once considered engineering for my career?" Trip's mouth dropped. What had she just said? Did she actually say . . . no, it couldn't be; she couldn't be serious . . . could she?  
  
Finally, he managed to choke out, "Wha . . ., *ahem* what did you say?"  
  
He look was a cross between satisfaction and amusement, and despite the fact that she was a cold, untouchable Vulcan, Trip's heart skipped a beat. What was going on with him? 'C'mon, Trip' he admonished himself, 'this is T'Pol! The woman you could hardly look at two years ago without getting' angry!' Yet, a very small part of his shocked mind whispered, 'two years is a long time, and people change.' The battle that was about to be waged within him was abruptly halted as the lovely woman spoke again.  
  
"I said I once seriously considered engineering for my career."  
  
Trip leaned towards her. His curiosity had been piqued; there was no turning back now.  
  
"Why didn't you?"  
  
T'Pol turned her face away for a moment, and Trip unconsciously mourned the lost of the sight of her exquisite eyes. Then, he noticed that a strange expression was coming over her; one he had never seen before. Long seconds passed as he anxiously awaited her answer, but she seemed to have entirely forgotten that he was there. She had a far-away gaze that was absolutely riveting, in the engineer's opinion. When she answered his query, he voice was hushed, as if she might break the invisible image manifesting before her mind's eye if she spoke too loud.  
  
"All my life, I have admired my father. He was my earliest role model, and he is a quantum engineer. As a child, I would watch him work for hours, simply learning through observation. When I was old enough, he began to teach me all he knew about his field. As the time drew closer for me to choose the path on which the rest of my life would be based, it became a choice between physical science and engineering."  
  
"What made you choose science?" Trip breathed, eyes wide with captivation.  
  
At the sound of his voice, T'Pol was brought out of her memory. She realized that she had shared a very intimate part of her life with the emotional human, and was unsure if such an action was wise. But at the site of him, she knew beyond a doubt that his intentions were . . . good, harmless. She couldn't quite explain it to herself, but somehow she knew that she could trust him with this; that he would treat it with the same respect she did.  
  
"I chose science because I realized that I didn't want to lead my father's life. To be true to myself, I needed to pursue the interest that held the most fascination, not the most intimate attachment." She finished solemnly. Trip was silent, and finally nodded, signifying his understanding. A quiet, comfortable moment passed between them, but was son broken by the particularly grating sound of a bird's call. Trip winced and T'Pol's face regained it's normally placid expression.  
  
Trip stood and offered her a hand, grinning slightly.  
  
"Guess we should get a move on if we wanna make good time."  
  
"Indeed. I suggest we take only the bare minimum and put in into our packs."  
  
He nodded and began to move their precious few materials into the sturdy backpacks as T'Pol felt a tightening in her chest. She was short of breath for a few seconds, and then was able to breathe somewhat normally again. But the pressure she had been feeling beneath her ribs had increased, and despite her training and logic, T'Pol could not help feeling a growing sense of dread and apprehension.  
  
A/N: Okay, there's chapter two. What do you guys think? Shall I keep going? Eh, it doesn't really matter, because even if you say 'no', I will anyway ;) Still, any and all feedback is a necessary part of any author's diet. That means you should click on the little but in the bottom left corner and leave a review!!! 


	3. 3

They had begun to move soon after daybreak, taking only what they needed as previously agreed. Both maintained introverted silences as they made their way through the marshy area, heading towards the base of a mountain. Trip, still favoring his ankle, was too deeply engrossed by T'Pol's revelations to notice that he was falling behind. Lost in his dumbfounded thoughts, he missed a root and fell, cursing as his ankle was further aggravated. He righted himself and looked down to inspect the damage. It didn't seem too severe, but the bandage had become soaking wet and hung loosely around his ankle.  
  
"Commander?" The Vulcan's clear voice barely cut through the mist that shrouded the base of the tropical peak.  
  
"Down here, T'Pol. I took a spill."  
  
"Keep talking. I will come to you." She replied, her voice more audible.  
  
He did as she told him, and presently he could see the shadow of her willowy figure coming out of the dank mist. He grinned ruefully, and shrugged his shoulders. She raised an eyebrow briefly before sinking to the ground beside him.  
  
"Have you injured yourself again?" She asked, carefully inspecting the wounded leg. Trip bit back a sigh as her warm fingers briefly massaged his cold, wet skin. It felt so good; he wished they could just stay where they were so they could continue her ministrations. But again, it was over before it started. She quickly withdrew her small, skilled hands and rummaged in her pack for the med kit. Opening it, a shadow of a frown passed her face as she coughed delicately. Trip leaned closer, peering into the kit.  
  
"We got enough bandage left?"  
  
"No. And we cannot continue without stabilizing your foot." She said, concern coloring her tone.  
  
Trip stayed where he was, and T'Pol became more aware of his exact proximity to her. She had never before been this close to him, and she wasn't sure she didn't welcome the intrusion into her sphere of personal space. Close up, she could see the clear cornflower blue of his eyes, and the healthy color of his skin. His wet uniform clung to his body, outlining the well-defined and powerful muscles. Realizing that she was staring, T'Pol instinctively shrunk away. Trip looked up at her sudden movement, wondering why she wouldn't meet his eyes. He searched her face a while longer, then sat back in defeat. He would leave trying to figure her out until they were in a more comfortable location. He sighed and said,  
  
"Go on. I'll wait here 'till they can send somebody down for me."  
  
Her head flew up immediately, fixing him with a look between a glare and shock.  
  
"That was probably the most illogical thing I have ever heard you say." She admonished.  
  
Despite her serious tone, Trip chuckled. She obviously had no idea how illogical he could be, even though they had been working together for over a year. It seemed she hadn't really figured him out either.  
  
"I don't see why." He countered patiently. "You'll make better time without having to wait for me, and I'm not too keen on hurtin' myself more."  
  
"I will not leave you, Commander." She replied with finality. 'Damn, she had that look again' Trip thought to himself. For a woman who supposedly had never dated, she sure knew how to manipulate a guy into doing whatever she said.  
  
"C'mon T'Pol, let's be reasonable. You know I'm right; admit it." In spite of their predicament and his discomfort, he still felt jovial enough to tease her. After all, it wasn't often he got a chance to talk to her without some distraction to take her away. In his opinion, she had used the 'I've gotta do something' excuse far too often, and as a result he hardly ever got to spend quality off-duty time with her. And besides, there was no one better to tease.  
  
"In a different situation, perhaps." She replied, repacking the med kit.  
  
"But as it is, you would most likely not survive long enough for a rescue team to locate you." She stood and offered her hand to Tucker, who looked at her in mock offense.  
  
"And what makes you think I wouldn't be able to survive on my own? I practically grew up in an environment like this!"  
  
"I doubt the Florida Everglades are home to enormous carnivores that move faster than you do."  
  
"Never underestimate the power and brains of a croc, lady. I've had my share of close scrapes."  
  
He stood, and instantly a stab of pain shot through his calf. Though he took the trouble to conceal it, there was no fooling the small woman he leaned on. In that moment, she made her decision. Bending down again, she removed even more from their packs, and stowed all that remained into her own. Trip looked down in confusion.  
  
"Now what're you doin'?"  
  
Finished with her work, she straightened and looked up at him, hoisting the pack onto one shoulder. She then settled his arm across her slender shoulders, and wrapped an arm securely around his waist. Trip was stunned, and more than a little offended.  
  
"Hey SubCommander, I can take care a' myself. You just do what I said and go one without me."  
  
She gazed up into his miffed face, trying to keep the amusement out of her cultured voice.  
  
"I have no doubt of that Mr. Tucker, but unfortunately we don't have that kind of time."  
  
She began to move further up the slope, towing a reluctant chief engineer with her. Though he knew she had a point, he felt it was his duty as a man to protest. This was humiliating to say the least.  
  
"And what makes you think it'll be faster this way?"  
  
"I don't, but as I already stated, I will not leave you behind."  
  
He rolled his eyes, trying not to lean on her too much. But it was hard as hell. This slope was tricky and beyond slippery. They hadn't gone ten minutes before he's forgotten how many times he's slipped or his injured foot had given way. Though T'Pol kept silent, Trip felt like a fool and cursed himself verbally every time it happened. Finally, an hour later, T'Pol stopped. Trip was only too happy to rest and get off his foot, but he would never tell T'Pol that. Glancing at her, he was surprised to see how heavily she was breathing. Maybe the rumors of Vulcan strength were more far-fetched than he'd thought.  
  
"Hey, you okay?" He enquired. The petite woman turned, and Trip recognized the familiar look of irritation. Privately, he congratulated himself for being able to recognize and interpret her moods, however subtle they were.  
  
In answer to his question, T'Pol surveyed herself. Truth be told, she was not 'okay'. In fact, she was far from it. But her distress did not come from having to carry Mr. Tucker, as he believed. Though he had become characteristically irritating again over the course of the past hour, her breathing was the real problem. T'Pol now was beginning to feel worried. She had spent time in tropical locations before, but had never experienced this kind of difficulty. It was an effort to take each breath, and traveling uphill while towing a large human was not helpful. To make matters worse, it seemed her logic had failed. Yesterday, it had seemed entirely plausible that the air would become thinner as the altitude increased, but now she could not detect any signs of lessening humidity. The increasing pressure in her chest summoned a distinct sense of foreboding.  
  
Because they were resting, she devoted full attention to filling her lungs with as much air as possible. When she didn't answer with the usual, 'I'm fine', Trip looked more closely at her. She was standing about a meter away, with one hand pressed to her sternum. Her chest heaved with each breath, and Trip could hear her wheezing slightly. Her eyes were closed in concentration, and her usually glowing bronze skin was dull and flat despite the moisture in the air. Something was wrong. Instantly, Trip was worried. He didn't know much about illnesses, but he knew that these were not good signs. And the fact that T'Pol couldn't mask them with her rigid Vulcan discipline was scarier still.  
  
"T'Pol, what's wrong?" He asked quickly. At his words, T'Pol knew she couldn't pretend anymore. The emotion in his voice told her that he was worried; that he knew something was wrong with her.  
  
"I . . . do not know." She replied between heaves. Presently, she came to sit beside him on a rock, and calmed herself into a state more fitting a Vulcan officer. When she was sure that her symptoms were under control, she turned her head and met his eyes. At the expression in them, she knew he wasn't convinced with her display of control. Finally, he broke the silence.  
  
"When did this start?" He asked gently, voice laced with concern.  
  
A lie was instantly on her tongue, but she hesitated. What good would it do to lie to him? He was intelligent and observant, and he had seen her difficulty. And although he could do nothing to help, perhaps confiding in him would put her more at ease. He had proved before that he was trustworthy, and looking into those honest blue eyes, T'Pol knew she couldn't lie to him. It was highly illogical, but she simply couldn't bring herself to tell him a falsehood now. She simply didn't have the ability.  
  
"Soon after we landed." She murmured back, careful to use as little breathe as possible.  
  
He swore and looked away, as though searching for an explanation or an answer. But the terrain offered none, and he had no choice but to look back at her. T'Pol was surprised to see the soft, almost tender look on his face. She had never seen him look at anyone like that before, much less herself. She had expected him to be angry for keeping the truth from him. At length, he spoke. In no more than a whisper, he asked,  
  
"Why didn't you tell me?"  
  
For reasons unbeknownst to her, T'Pol felt a wave of guilt and regret wash over her. It was not logical in the least to be feeling this way, but neither was denying the emotions that currently were so prevalent in her mind.  
  
"I did not want to worry you. There is nothing we can do anyway. I have scanned myself several times, and my scanner detects nothing."  
  
Trip nodded absently and chewed on his lip. She had observed that it was a habit he resorted to when trying to think of a solution to a problem. Inwardly, she was touched. That particular look was reserved for his precious engine. Other problems didn't warrant it, but obviously hers did. As Tucker thought, T'Pol turned her gaze up to the sky, where she saw the sun steadily climbing. Judging that they had spent enough time resting, she lightly touched the Commander's arm. He looked at her, momentarily startled.  
  
"We must continue." She stated simply. Trip's mouth formed a thin line and he crossed his arms defiantly.  
  
"Not with you bein' sick."  
  
"We have been through this, Commander. This is our only option."  
  
"That was before you decided to share with me the important fact that you can't breathe easily!"  
  
"Our circumstances have not changed."  
  
"Yes they have! Now instead of one of us being injured, we're both hurt. And don't you try to tell me that yours isn't that bad." He said in exasperation. He waited as she pondered an appropriate answer.  
  
"Your point is noted, but the fact remains that out best hope of being rescued is to reach a higher altitude. We can do this one of two ways." She paused and waited for his reaction. When there was no change in his countenance and stance, she continued.  
  
"We may either continue as we have . . ."  
  
"Or?" He asked  
  
"Or, I can render you unconscious and carry you the rest of the way." Her serious tone and expression effectively told him she wasn't kidding.  
  
"You're not strong enough." He retorted rebelliously. He didn't like either of her ideas in the least.  
  
In response, T'Pol gave him an appraising once-over. When her eyes traveled back up to his, she told him,  
  
"I estimate that the ratio of my strength to yours is similar to the ratio between a typical human male and an infant."  
  
Hmmm, that definitely wasn't what he had been expecting. Maybe something more along the lines of a human teenager to the heavy weight champion. He looked at her, and she gazed back at him. Neither said a word as the silent contest of wills began. Finally, Trip gave a gusty sigh and stood to stretch. T'Pol stood in turn and together they assumed their former positions. After they had resumed their walk, he ventured,  
  
"So . . .um . . . you wouldn't really have knocked me out and carried me up, would you?"  
  
"I suggest you don't try to find out."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Dr. Phlox was feeding his impressive menagerie when the familiar sound of an opening door reached him. Straightening and coming to see who his visitor was, he was surprised to see Ensign O'Connor.  
  
The young man had never been injured since coming aboard Enterprise, and Phlox had very limited contact with him. He wondered what could have brought the tall man to sickbay, since he had no obvious medical problems. Turning his rather disconcerting smile on the Irishman, Phlox called out in a cheerful voice,  
  
"Ensign O'Connor, it's not often that I see you here. What can I do for you?" Thomas smiled back, dark eyes warm with friendliness. Phlox instantly understood how so much of the crew trusted him.  
  
"Actually Doctor, nothing is wrong with me. I was wondering if you could help me with a problem."  
  
Phlox beamed. "Certainly! What is it?"  
  
In response, O'Connor handed him a PADD. Phlox briefly studied it, only to find basic readings of the planet they were currently orbiting. He was mildly puzzled. Anything pertaining to the planet was outside his area of expertise. In fact, it was directly within the ensign's.  
  
"Tell me Doctor, how doVulcans respond to humid temperatures?"  
  
"The same way humans do, I believe."  
  
"Even in an atmosphere like this one?"  
  
"What is your point, Ensign?"  
  
Thomas took the PADD back and pressed a few buttons. When he handed it back, he could see all the components of the atmosphere listed beside their respective percentages. Most of them were familiar: Nitrogen, Oxygen, Carbon-Dioxide. A few were rarer, and one was very odd. He had never seen this element in a natural combination with the others. Intrigued, the Denobulan asked,  
  
"Can you run an analysis to see what effect this combination has on the more common elements?"  
  
O'Connor grinned briefly. "That's exactly what the SubCommander asked me to do before she left. But with the detailed scans taking place after they disappeared, I was only able to complete it now." "And?"  
  
"It only affects one element; copper."  
  
Phlox froze immediately. This was not good news, especially since T'Pol was most likely still alive on the planet. Correctly interpreting the doctor's stricken look, Thomas nodded and proceeded.  
  
"When it combines with copper, the new compound is three times heavier than other copper compounds. I was wondering," He paused, carefully phrasing his next words. "How would that affect a Vulcan?"  
  
Phlox's mind was miles ahead, and he crossed the facility with a few long strides. O'Connor followed, peering over the shorter man's shoulder to see what he was up to. Phlox accessed the main computer and opened his medical files. They were written in Denobulan, so Thomas had no idea what he was doing. Stepping out of the way, he waited patiently for the doctor's response.  
  
It wasn't long before Phlox turned around, jovial face uncharacteristically grave.  
  
"Doctor?" The ensign questioned.  
  
"I need to speak with the captain." A few minutes later, Archer arrived in Sickbay. He was startled to see O'Connor there, as the man had a legendarily small medical record. Not giving it too much thought, he crossed directly over the office, where both men awaited him. He had hurried purposefully; Phlox never sounded that urgent unless something was really wrong.  
  
"What's the problem?" He demanded as soon as they noticed him.  
  
Phlox didn't waste any time.  
  
"We need to get T'Pol off the planet."  
  
"We're working on analyzing the scans now."  
  
"There isn't time for that. If they are still alive, the SubCommander doesn't have much time." Phlox said urgently. A frown was punctuated by the exotic ridges in his face.  
  
"What do you mean?" The captain asked, feeling a stone develop in the pit of his stomach.  
  
Thomas spoke up; earning him startled looks from his senior officers. No doubt they had forgotten he was there. "There's an element in the atmosphere that bonds to copper, making it at least three times heavier than it normally would be."  
  
Archer was still confused. Though he knew Vulcan blood was mostly composed to copper, he didn't know what all this science talk meant in terms of her safety.  
  
"And what will it do to her?"  
  
"Any number of things, if she remains exposed," Phlox answered, "but the thing we have to be most worried about is her lungs. If the copper becomes too heavy, it's possible that it her body won't tolerate it, which could cause her lungs to retain fluid." That was the most simplistic explanation he could offer, knowing that the captain didn't want to be bothered with the how's and therefore's of the situation.  
  
Archer swore and then began to pace, as was his habit in times of crisis or stress. Finally, he turned back to the doctor and the man temporarily in charge of science.  
  
How probable is this?"  
  
"Highly probable." Thomas answered quickly.  
  
"How much time would she have? And what about Trip?"  
  
Phlox's face turned thoughtful as he calculated.  
  
"Commander Tucker should be fine. But T'Pol has no more than 36 hours from the landing before she goes into a coma. From there, it depends on the individual." He answered regretfully.  
  
"But if we got her in the next 24 hours, she would be alright?"  
  
"I believe so."  
  
He regarded them for a moment, and then straightened.  
  
"Right," He began. "O'Connor, back to the bridge with me. We'll search for them on foot if we have to. Phlox, get to work figuring out a treatment, in the event that we get them back before she goes into a coma."  
  
The brisk walk back to the bridge was a quiet, tense one. But as soon as they reached it, Hoshi turned on them with a smiling face. She had gone back on duty after six hours of sleep, and had been analyzing the detailed scan as fast as she could.  
  
"Captain, I've found the pod's signature!" She called.  
  
He crossed the circular room to stand behind her. Hoshi could tell something was wrong, but knew it wasn't a good time to ask. Plus, she may not even really want to know right now. Not after working so hard.  
  
"Have you tried hailing them?"  
  
"There's no one aboard sir. Even though they crashed, it seems that it could have been worse, and I've got a visual."  
  
She tapped her consol with expert fingers and an image of the overturned pod came up on the screen. Upon seeing it, Archer instantly came to the same conclusion she had.  
  
"The door's open, which means at least one of them got out."  
  
Hoshi nodded. Archer stood, and told her in his no-nonsense voice, "We don't have much time. I want you to help O'Connor to locate them, and when you have, notify me. Lt. Reed?" He called. The British man's head obligingly flew up.  
  
"As soon as we've got a lock, I want you to fire up the transporter and bring the SubCommander up first."  
  
Reed nodded his head, but ventured, "Sir?"  
  
Archer perched on the edge of his chair, and replied tiredly, "I don't care what happens, Malcolm. You get her up first, then Trip. Got that?"  
  
"Yes sir." Malcolm replied. Though he had no idea what was going on, it was obviously important to follow those orders to the letter. With pride he noted that was what Reed's did best.  
  
A/N Continued: Whew, this was a long one. And now you sort of know what's wrong with T'Pol. Don't worry, I'll get into more detail later (probably towards the end). Since I took the time to write this, please have the decency to leave a review, even if you hated it. It's only common courtesy. 


	4. 4

It was late, but that meant nothing to the two ensigns working quietly on the bridge. O'Connor and Sato were now working on the problem of isolating one human and one Vulcan bio-sign on the planet, and it wasn't going very well. Actually, the work was mind-numbingly slow, and there was no better way to do it than by hand. Thus, they had split up the large area of land surrounding the crash site and were methodically sorting through each and every bio sign. Needless to say, a tropical planet had hundreds of life forms within every square meter.  
  
Hoshi sighed and straightened, arching her cramped back in her seat. Reaching a small hand up to massage her neck, she briefly turned around to look at her partner. His dark head was bent over the science consol the same way it had been for the past four hours. From what she could tell, it seemed that he hadn't moved a muscle since starting. Privately, she marveled at his concentration.  
  
"How are you doing?" Came a soft voice from behind her. Hoshi jumped in her seat and whipped around to glare at him.  
  
"I was fine until a moment ago! Don't scare me like that!"  
  
His head lifted to hers, and she could see his jet-colored eyes laughing as his mouth turned into a shy smile. Hoshi scrutinized his face for a split second. Having never had the opportunity to get to know Thomas very well, she had been given a run-down of his personality by some other women soon after their initial launch. He was a genius like her, but he didn't ever seem to be unsure of himself, as she sometimes was. And though he was younger than she, he seemed older in almost every respect.  
  
"Sorry." He replied. Hoshi decided that she like his voice, somewhere between a baritone and a bass, with a lovely deep quality that resonated in her audio-oriented brain. She sighed and tugged at the ponytail that held her long ebony locks in place. She ran her fingers through it, futilely attempting to banish the headache that was forming.  
  
"Any luck?" She asked him, eyes closed in a moment of self-indulgence.  
  
Thomas frowned. "None at all." This was beyond frustrating and at this rate; they would never isolate the bio-signs, particularly if the two superior officers were moving. He looked carefully at Hoshi, weighing into consideration what he knew of her character. He wanted to be sure that she would back him up on what he was about to propose.  
  
"Listen," he began, moving quietly to her side. At the tone of his voice and his proximity, Hoshi perked up. A tone like that almost always meant a plan or gossip. In this case, she was willing to bet it was a plan. The question was: why was he being secretive about it?  
  
"We'll never get anywhere if we keep doing this all by hand." He told her, purposefully leaving the end open.  
  
A slight frown marred the Asian woman's porcelain face.  
  
"But the sensors take just as long if not longer, not to mention they make it almost impossible to monitor anything else. What else can we do?"  
  
"We need to do a little upgrading." He told her seriously.  
  
Hoshi looked closely at his face with mild suspicion. He was beginning to sound like Malcolm combined with Trip, and from what she had seen that usually was a recipe for trouble. She glanced around the room (unnecessary as it was, being the graveyard shift) and lowered her voice to a level that matched his.  
  
"What kind of upgrading?"  
  
"You said our sensors can't handle this kind of thing."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I bet a Vulcan one could."  
  
Hoshi sat back in her seat, the expression in her eyes doubtful.  
  
"There wouldn't be any specifications in the database. Where would you get the information?"  
  
The other ensign didn't move a muscle. He said nothing, and simply let Hoshi figure it out for herself. When she did, her eyes grew round as saucers and in a horrified voice she whispered,  
  
"Are you insane?! You can't go through her things! You could get court- martialed!"  
  
"Who's to say she would know?" He asked pointedly, narrowing his black eyes at her. Hoshi gulped and resolutely retorted,  
  
"She wouldn't hear it from me, but if I know that SubCommander, she would know just by looking at us."  
  
"O'Connor swiveled around and grabbed a PADD off the consol. When he turned back, he was grinning.  
  
"You're still scared of her, aren't you?"  
  
"I am not, but I've heard some pretty amazing things about Vulcans when they're angry." She retorted hotly. She did not like this idea at all.  
  
He gave her a look that would have made her knees quiver if she wasn't so shocked. "Hoshi," he began soothingly, "I swear on my little sister's life that if she does find out, I will take sole responsibility."  
  
She opened her mouth to protest, but he silenced her with a hand. Suddenly, she felt like a twelve-year old in her school counselor's office.  
  
"If she does find out, which she may in time, it will only be logical that she blame me because I'm her second and I'm the only one who knows where to find the information. I saw the specs in a book when we were going over some astrophysics theories."  
  
"But regulations . . . we really shouldn't . . ."  
  
"This is the only way and you know it Hoshi. If we don't find them soon, T'Pol isn't going to make it."  
  
Hoshi briefly remembered something about T'Pol being injured, but she didn't have a chance to ask for further clarification. Instead, she listened to the rest of the plan.  
  
"By doing it behind the Captain's back, we don't risk letting the Vulcan technology get out. I will be the only one to install, use it and uninstall it. All I need you to do is read a few pages out of the text. Then I'll analyze the findings and we'll have them back onboard in a few hours. Will you do it, Hoshi?"  
  
Once he was finished, he didn't push her to answer right away. This plan was a last resort, but it had become clear to him that it was the only option they had left. And if he was going to go down, he wanted to drag as little people with him as possible. He would see to it that Hoshi wouldn't get in trouble for her part. Finally, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. When she was done, she raised her almond-shaped eyes to his, and set her mouth in a tight line.  
  
"Let's get to it."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Now that Trip knew T'Pol was sick, he wasn't going to let her do any more than was absolutely necessary. They had traveled about twenty kilometers that day, and he was happy to report that his ankle was on the mend, as were his ribs. Realizing that they would never reach the mountain range, they settled for a very large hill. They were currently resting at the base of it.  
  
Throughout the day, they had seen signs of some very large carnivores. There were tracks wider than the engineer's considerable hand-span and they had decided not to take any chances tonight. They made camp early, and Trip was able to construct a pyre, which would give off considerable light and heat for a good ten hours or so. Hopefully, it would keep the animals away.  
  
Watching the blaze and listening to the silence of the woods, Trip retreated into that familiar place of his childhood. Whenever he had accomplished some feat of basic engineering, he used to stare at it, simply admiring it. It was a natural high, and it always made him feel like he had a place in the world. There was nothing more comforting than knowing you were good at something useful. But this time his admiration was abruptly cut short as a series of coughs erupted from a nearby tree.  
  
T'Pol had been sitting there quietly since they had stopped for the day, and was no longer able to mask the coughs. Since her admission, she had worked harder to conceal her difficulty. But with each kilometer or so, she could feel the pressure building beneath her ribs. Her heart pounded in her head, and the coughs erupted from her with a severity that made it impossible to concentrate. Whenever she had an attack, she would cough and heave for long seconds, gasping for breath with a desperation born of fear and helplessness.  
  
When it seemed that she would never breathe again, the coughs lessoned, and she heaved hard for a good time after. She knew Tucker was close to frantic with worry, but his efforts to conceal it did not go unnoticed. He had been quiet and helpful; allowing her a measure of dignity after her confession. It was most uncharacteristic; she had expected him to pump her for information, make her sit immobilized until he could think of something to do, or a number of other things. Instead, he barely commented on her situation, and had ended up helping her towards the end of their day's journey. He had constructed a pyre, set water boiling, and had scouted the area while she sat in the trunk of a tree and shivered, trying to keep the attacks from taking her. She doubted that he would ever know how much she appreciated his presence.  
  
"It's getting' worse, isn't it?" He questioned softly, still turned away from her.  
  
It was the first time he'd spoken in over an hour. It had not been easy, but he was willing to make himself be silent if it made her more comfortable. And he could tell that she was getting worse by the minute. She had stopped arguing with him and had even let him help her for a kilometer or two. He could see how hard she struggled, and it tore him up inside. T'Pol, the insufferable, unconquerable Vulcan ice queen was slowly being choked to death. And there was nothing he could do to stop it. He couldn't even comfort her the way he would a human. Any attempts at telling her that it wasn't that bad or that it would be all right would be shot down to hell by her intellect. He couldn't make small talk, or hold her, or anything. He had never felt so damn helpless in his whole life.  
  
"Yes." She replied. Her voice was haggard, and turning towards her he could see her leaning back against the tree trunk, breathing slowly and shallowly with very precise movements. They both knew that if she breathed deeply she would be sent into another fit.  
  
He came to crouch beside her, once again closer than she would normally allow him. But this time, she didn't have the strength to move away, and she wouldn't risk speaking to him. Besides, she reasoned, his presence was soothing, and it was logical to do anything that would provide her some temporary comfort. She turned her face to his, studying the worry lines that had recently formed. She held her breath as he tentatively reached out a hand.  
  
Surprisingly, it was relatively dry, given their conditions. He laid the back of it across her forehead, and pursed his lips. She was hotter than any person he had ever known, but her temperature was normally higher than a human's anyway. Still, he doubted that Vulcans were always this warm.  
  
"I think you've got a fever." He told her gravely.  
  
"I know." She whispered back, shivering against the breeze that blew past them. He frowned and fetched the blankets from their pack. Wasting no time and not hesitating, he wrapped them securely around her. T'Pol didn't protest. When he was satisfied that she was bundled up securely, he reached for the hot water. He poured some into a cup and let it cool before holding it to her lips.  
  
"Here, you should drink this."  
  
"I can -"She began, taking a hand out of the blankets. Trip gently pushed it back, eyes gentle as he persisted. Finally, she relented and allowed him to tip the hot liquid down her throat. Thankfully she didn't choke. After she thanked him, Trip gave her a little grin.  
  
"I just wish it was tea."  
  
She regarded him curiously. Trip sighed and ran a hand through his hair as the fire crackled behind him.  
  
"Your structure works well." She commented quietly. Trip glanced back at her, not able to help the full-fledged grin that spread across his unshaven face.  
  
"Well, now I've heard it all." He said, folding his arms. "Miss High n' Mighty herself actually complimenting me. Never thought I'd see the day."  
  
He expected her to raise an eyebrow, but when she didn't, his grin vanished. What had he done wrong?  
  
"Hey," he offered softly. "I'm sorry."  
  
"If anyone is to apologize, it should be me." She told him flatly, eyes flickering in the light. Even in an incapacitated state, she could still surprise him. "It was never my intention to make you feel that your work is less than exemplary."  
  
Trip's jaw dropped at that one. Hell; that was the basis of their entire relationship! She dissed him, he quipped back and so on. Even now, though more subdued, they still took wisecracks at each other. Trip personally found it pretty entertaining! And now she was saying that she had never meant to offend him?  
  
"Are ya serious?" he demanded incredulously.  
  
"You know perfectly well, Commander that I am always serious." She deadpanned. Then, more softly she added, "And I apologize for making you believe that I dismissed your work."  
  
"You mean," he tried again to clarify what he had just heard. "You actually think I'm a good engineer?"  
  
There was a hint of a smile in her eyes as she replied, "As I told you, I spent a good deal of time with engineers. I know a talent when I see it."  
  
Trip just stared at her for what seemed an eternity. Was this really possible? Jesus, they might even be on the path to friendship! Who woulda guessed it?! When his mind returned to the present, Trip noticed that T'Pol was staring at him too. He felt a flush creep up his neck and cleared is throat.  
  
"Um . . . well, thanks." He said dumbly. Moving further away, he said, "Maybe you should turn in for the night, huh?"  
  
T'Pol nodded and lay down, still cocooned in the blankets. Trip settled himself against another tree and stared at the sky, thinking about what T'Pol had told him that day. It was amazing; in one day he had learned more about her than he had in months, and she had actually complimented him. He simply couldn't get his mind around it. Looking at the stars, he hoped they would have a chance to explore that friendship. 


	5. 5

A/N: Hey everyone, thanks so much for your support. I really appreciate you taking the time to read and leave reviews, especially when you tell me what things you specifically like. Overall, I'm glad you find T'Pol's problem to be plausible; I was a little worried about that. And I'm thrilled with the general reception to O'Connor. I find that introducing an original character allows me to develop my skills while still remaining in the comfortable realm of fanfiction. Thanks so much!  
  
A/N Continued: Okay, I'm a little confused. In Shockwave part 2, Trip says he can talk to anyone on B-deck. This would mean that T'Pol is on B-deck. But then in Bounty, Phlox says her quarters are on C-deck. Has anyone else noticed this? Whatever, I'm just going to stick with the more recent one.  
  
It was 0223 hundred hours, and a tall, lithe figure was making his way inconspicuously through C-deck. Had anyone been awake at that hour, they would immediately have become interested in his presence, because this deck was reserved for the highest ranking officers. But as it was, no one noticed as Ensign Thomas O'Connor rounded the corner past the captain's cabin, making his way directly to SubCommander T'Pol's residence.  
  
It had not taken long for him to outline the basics of his plan to his accomplice, and now the first part of it was underway. Reaching the door, he keyed in the general access code and held his breath. This was the single most dangerous part of the plan: he had no idea if the Vulcan locked her door or not, but if she did there was no way to proceed. He would trip an alarm in the process, and the prospect of explaining himself to the captain was not a pleasant one. But thankfully, the door slid obligingly open and O'Connor slipped in as quietly as a shadow, leaving no trace of a disturbance in the vacant corridor.  
  
Once inside, it took him a few moments to adjust to the dim lighting. Glancing around the room, he wondered where a Vulcan would keep her scientific books. Would she hide them? And if so, where? Ghosting cautiously across the room, he noticed several large and well-worn tomes on the shelf above the small bed. Aiming the flashlight's beam on the fraying and creased spines, he thanked his lucky stars for his good fortune. He picked out a familiar one of the newer-looking volumes and put it inside his uniform. Then, as silently as he had entered, he left; heading for the quarters of the linguistics genius.  
  
At the chime from her doorbell, Hoshi jumped. Taking a deep, calming breath, she stood and opened the door. Her relief was nearly tangible when she made out O'Connor's handsome face. But the relief was short-lived as she remembered what he was there for. Though she had agreed to go through with his plan, she couldn't help feeling guilty and nervous. This went against everything she had learned, both in life and in the Academy.  
  
O'Connor took one look at her face and instantly knew what was wrong. He unconsciously assumed a friendly stance and said quietly,  
  
"You don't have to go through with this if you don't want to."  
  
Hoshi didn't do or say anything. She had suspected he would offer her an easy way out. And try as she might to rationalize it, she knew she would never forgive herself if they never recovered Trip and T'Pol. Either way, she was not happy, but she knew what had to be done. Wordlessly, she extended her hand. O'Connor gave her a tiny grin of thanks, and handed the book over while settling himself on the chair at her desk. Hoshi sat opposite him on the bunk, leafing through the pages of Vulcan script, mumbling to herself as her fingers slipped over the dry pieces of parchment- like paper. She had always liked the look of traditional Vulcan writing. However, unlike most humans, her appreciation of it ran deeper than simple aesthetics. The ornate loops and clefs had a variety of different meanings, each of which could be changed by the placement of an accent or an addition loop.  
  
After several long minutes, she read aloud a passage to him. Taking it in and judging that it was what he needed, O'Connor typed it into her computer and transferred it to a PADD. He then erased the entire document from the computer system, leaving no trace of it's ever having been there. He gave Hoshi a smile.  
  
"Thanks, Hoshi. I mean it." He told her sincerely. Hoshi simply shrugged her shoulders.  
  
"It's the least I can do, after not paying enough attention to that pod." She shook her head at herself, miserable in self deprecation. Thomas' look became more serious and compassionate. Carefully, he lightly laid a gentle hand on hers. Hoshi looked up at him, expression bleak.  
  
"It wasn't your fault. It was an accident that no one could have prevented."  
  
"I should have been monitoring them more closely," she persisted, determined to hold herself entirely accountable. Guilt had much power over the petite ensign.  
  
"How could you? You were the senior officer on the bridge, covering both your station and the SubCommander's. There was no way you could have paid more attention to them." He told her firmly.  
  
"And besides," he added, "You knew the minute there was trouble. It's thanks to you we know what planet they're on in the first place! No one is to blame, Hoshi; least of all you."  
  
She looked up into his face, searching for proof of the true sincerity she heard. She found no falsehood in his countenance, and her eyes smiled through the glassy wall of unshed tears. She sniffed.  
  
"Thanks." She said; voice watery.  
  
"You're welcome." The Irishman returned, standing to leave. "Now if you don't mind, I have some illegal upgrades to do."  
  
"I hope they don't catch you." The comm. officer said, not quite adequately hiding her alarm. He gave her an easy smile to dissuade her fears, though in reality he was just as apprehensive as she.  
  
"I'll be okay. Get some sleep. With any luck, we'll have them back in a few hours."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Trip hadn't realized he'd dozed off until he woke. Cursing himself, he looked around with bleary eyes, trying to pinpoint the disturbance that had awoken him. As his head cleared, he heard the last thing in the world he wanted to hear: the sound of labored coughing. Instantly he was at T'Pol's side, gazing worriedly at her face. The flames from his pyre cast ghastly shadows across her beautiful features, which were already contorted by the pain she was experiencing. Her eyes were shut tight, and she was lying on her side. The coughs racked her body, expelling air faster than she could control. Trip was seized with a primal fear. Without thinking, he grabbed her slight shoulders and pulled her into an upright position.  
  
"T'Pol! T'Pol calm down, it's okay! Just calm down." He pleaded with her. Her eyes were open now and huge with fright. Gazing into them, Trip could clearly see for the first time beyond her Vulcan mask. She was terrified, and pooling in her eyes he saw the blatant cry for help. He set his jaw and held her to his chest, thumping the heel of his hand across her back in an attempt to loosen whatever it was that kept choking her. As she convulsed in his lap, he whispered soothing sounds to her, hoping beyond hope that something he was doing was going to help. Finally, the hacking lessened. She leaned heavily against the engineer and gasped desperately for air. Her chest heaved against his, though he barely registered it.  
  
As her body quieted and she focused on relieving her traumatized lungs, Trip became increasingly aware of their positions. He had somehow managed to drag the woman into his lap, wrapping both arms around her. T'Pol's chin rested on his shoulder, her arms locked tight around his waist. Her full, soft breasts were crushed against him, and her hip was solidly embedded in his groin. Trip gulped audibly, aware that this was definitely what she would consider 'conduct unbecoming an officer'. Yet, holding her was comforting to him. It was almost like if he could hold her, maybe he could keep her from spiraling down into the inevitable darkness that awaited them all. He memorized the feeling of her body; the planes and curves that were so widely admired but never touched.  
  
T'Pol was still heaving, but seemed to have regained her faculties enough to realize that she was in a rather compromising situation. From his scent, she knew herself to be within the embrace of Commander Tucker, but she could not quite remember how she had come to be there. Instinctively, she tightened and tried to pull away. But strong arms held her fast and a rough voice whispered into her ear,  
  
"I'm not gonna let you go until you can talk to me."  
  
For a moment, she entertained the idea of forcing herself away from him. Though not entirely certain she could do it in her present state of weakness, she knew she could try. Yet, his warm embrace was remarkably and profoundly stabilizing. She decided to acquiesce to his wishes, for the moment at least. Then, to both their profound amazement, the Vulcan shifted slightly to tuck her head beneath his jaw and snuggled closer. Trip was so astonished he couldn't speak, though he didn't have to. His arms tightened of their own accord, and slowly began to massage her spine. Neither knew how long they remained like that, nor did they necessarily want it to end. T'Pol maintained silence longer than was necessary, and Trip didn't do anything to hurry her.  
  
Within the engineer's warm embrace, T'Pol was starting to realize that she would probably not survive to return to Enterprise. As a Vulcan, she was prepared for death, but as a woman, she was apprehensive. Not for herself, but for the man holding her. How would he react? Would she pass out of his mind like the other women in his past? For some unfathomable reason, the last thing she wanted was to be categorized with the other women. With a slight start, she had a revelation. Somehow, she had unintentionally developed . . . feelings . . . for this human. Given her inexperience in the area, she didn't know what kind of feelings exactly, but they were feelings nonetheless. There was only one thing to do. Slowly and deliberately, more for her benefit than his, she enunciated,  
  
"Please release me."  
  
Trip frowned and reluctantly released the Vulcan woman. Though he was disappointed to relinquish her, something else was niggling at him. Peering as closely as he dared, he knew something was wrong. The Vulcan sitting across from him was not T'Pol. She was avoiding his gaze, and carefully rearranging the blankets around her filthy uniform. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but she wasn't acting like herself. He scooted closer experimentally. Predictably, she shrank away.  
  
"You okay?" He asked softly. His gaze was tender and sincere. It made T'Pol illogically angry.  
  
"I am fine." She told him coldly.  
  
'Damn, something is really wrong here,' Trip thought to himself. She was acting like a . . . well, like a Vulcan. It was almost as if what they had just experienced was a figment of his imagination. Hell, it was almost like she had reverted back into the pain-in-the-ass who'd refused to shake his hand! 'Okay, so Vulcans aren't that big on personal contact', he reasoned. But he was just trying to help! Surely she knew that. What had happened after was definitely NOT his fault!  
  
"Didn't look like it just now." He retorted crossly. If she could be difficult, fine. So could he.  
  
She ignored him. Infuriated, Trip counted to ten slowly and took several cleansing breaths. 'Of all the times to go back to bein' a real pain!' he fumed. 'Of all the times to do it, after what had just happened! And of all the people to be stuck with on a damn swamp island!' Fighting to keep his rage in check, Trip didn't hear her the first time she called him. The second time, he noticed she seemed a bit peeved.  
  
"Commander Tucker"  
  
"What?" He demanded, refusing to look anywhere other than his boots, lest she manage to soften him somehow.  
  
"There is something we need to discuss." She panted. Obviously, she was going to have to make this short. The end was fast approaching. She shoved the feeling of dismay out of her mind.  
  
"Oh yeah? And what's that?" The furious chief engineer returned.  
  
"It is quite clear that in all likelihood, I will die on this planet."  
  
It was as flat and emotionless as if she had just told him she was vegetarian. But the words were painfully clear and Trip was forced to deal with the very thing he had tried not to think of. All anger was forgotten as he whipped his head up to look at her, searching for some sign; any sign. But there was none. She had retreated behind her Vulcan armor and was not coming back out.  
  
"You don't know that." He insisted, desperately clinging to childlike hope and naivety. He had never felt like this before.  
  
Outwardly, T'Pol fixed him with a withering look; one she knew from experience often irritated him. But inwardly, she felt her heart pound at his reaction. It was entirely illogical, and her carelessness had allowed him to get too close. What needed to be done had to be done, no matter how much it hurt inside.  
  
"Don't be foolish, Commander." She chided. It was less than half-hearted, but decades of training succeeded at masking her true regard. Trip stiffened at her tone and words. "It is useless to believe otherwise. Therefore, I am going to ask you to see to the safe delivery of my body to Vulcan when I pass."  
  
She was heaving again, and the tightness in her chest was not entirely due to her medical distress. It took visible effort to keep herself from hyperventilating, and it certainly didn't help to see Tucker's confused, hurt and angry expression. The knowledge that she was causing such pain was almost unbearable. The muscles in Trip's jaw were working furiously, but he kept a rein on himself. The last thing he wanted to do was say something he would regret.  
  
He didn't believe it; he didn't want to believe it. But what she had said was true. If they didn't get her help soon, she wouldn't make it. Even now, he could see she was fighting hard for the semblance of control that was so essential to all Vulcans. Looking at her, he was scared. If she died, what would he do? He honestly didn't know. But if she did, he wasn't going to have her last memories of him be associated with anger. And if he was going to have to put up with all her Vulcan-ness to make it possible, so be it. He sighed and ran a hand through his dirty wet hair again.  
  
"If it comes to that, T'Pol, I'll be honored." He replied tiredly. Without another word he rose and moved to the other tree, where he sat and stared at the blazing flames in silent contemplation. T'Pol blinked in surprise. She had not expected that. He was supposed to yell and tell her that she would live. He was supposed to say . . . something of meaning. She had no idea what, but she definitely had expected some kind of reassurance. Was it possible that she was disappointed? He seemed to have resumed his normal detached air with regards to her. She had achieved her goal, and quickly too. So why did her soul feel so empty?  
  
Unable to tolerate such questions, she turned her back on the man and lay down once again, determined to finish as she had started. Exhaustion triumphed over her eventually, and she slept deeply, heedless of the constant, pained gaze trained on her form by the man beside the fire.  
  
Another A/N: Okay, this chapter was slightly darker. I just don't think T'Pol would jump at Trip all at once (though I know I would!). I think that when the writers of the show finally decide to bring them together (which God-willing will happen sometime next season. I don't like these rumors of T/A) that she will have some inner battles to face. It definitely won't be easy for her to admit to having feelings for a human, much less agreeing to a relationship with one. There, that's it. Don't agree with me? Leave a review and tell me why. Leave a review anyway! The next chapter won't be up until later next week b/c I'll be in Florida for a wedding. Look for it then! 


	6. 6

A/N: Back from Florida!! It was a beautiful wedding, and now that I'm home and summer has started, I can finally devote some quality time to my stories. But that's not the good news! The really good news is that I've been accepted into Stanford University's Summer Creative Writing program for high school students! YAY!!! I'm so happy!! I was on the waiting list for a while, but I made it! And you know what that means? .some professional writers actually like MY work!! Can you imagine! Wow, I'm on a high!  
  
-Anyway, that won't happen until the end of July. So now, about this chapter: We're winding down towards the end. I don't know how many more chapters exactly, but I have decided that there will be a sequel. I was going over this plotline in my head and realized that the end sort of isn't the end, and if I wanted more, some of you might too. Heck, it may even end up as a series, if I have the inspiration and support (wink wink). And with that said, on with the chapter!!  
  
-Also, I know nothing about astrophysics or astrophysicists. I don't know any and my own bout with physics was not pleasant. The characterizations made below are groundless and made by an uninformed author. I also know only a limited amount of medical information and terminology.  
  
Virtually alone on the bridge in the dead of night, Thomas was furiously completing his upgrades. Silently, he thanked his little sister (a computer scientist by profession and perfectionist by nature) for making him learn the basics of computer programming and analysis. And he also thanked the Vulcans for not being as advanced as they always made themselves out to be. In reality, the specs for their scanners were not that much more advanced than a few prototypes back at Starfleet. But he didn't think about that too long. He had a job to do, and time was quickly running out. By Phlox's calculations, T'Pol would be falling into a coma in only a few short hours, and from there everything was bound to get far more dangerous.  
  
Nearly twenty minutes and a full mug of strong coffee later, the Ensign was almost positive of his success. The quick diagnostic results seemed acceptable, and he now deemed it time to put the upgrades into real action. With a quick glance around the bridge, he pressed a few keys to initiate the new scans. As the results came back almost instantly, he fought to desire to give a cheer of relief and triumph.  
  
The new scans were programmed to pick up human and Vulcan bio-signs. They came in consistently, not hampered in the least by topographical changes or variances in the atmosphere. He had started them on the coordinates of the abandoned shuttlepod, and worked outwards from them in all directions. As the results came back, he briefly reviewed each one, searching for the tell- tall signs that would indicate what he was looking for. Finally, he found it. Both bio-signs showed up brightly against the background of the scans, and Thomas heaved a sigh of relief. He shook his head to clear it of the dizziness of joy, remembering that it wasn't over yet.  
  
Checking and re-checking the coordinates, he deactivated the modifications and went back to the normal ones. He plugged in the coordinates and keyed in the code for the strongest and most detailed scans Enterprise was capable of. But of course, they were far slower than their Vulcan counterparts. As the seconds ticked by endlessly, O'Connor began to fidget. Each second was a second off the SubCommander's margin between life and death. Minutes passed, and he desperately racked his brain for ways of making the infernal machine faster. He glanced back at the chronometer, and was shocked to see that an entire 8 minutes had passed since starting the scans. He was about to give in to childish impulses when a tiny chirp signaled the return of completed information. From the looks of it, Commander Tucker was fine, but T'Pol was not. As predicted, her bio-sign was weak and showing signs of early shock; time was swiftly slipping away. Immediately, Thomas went deep into the main computer's matrix and dissolved the Vulcan upgrades. When he was certain there was no evidence of them, he pressed the hail button.  
  
"O'Connor to the Captain."  
  
"Archer here."  
  
Thomas shook his head. It sounded as though the captain had been wide awake, no doubt waiting for someone to call him.  
  
"I've found them sir."  
  
"Get Lieutenant Reed. I'll be up in a moment." Archer ordered  
  
Thomas allowed himself a small smile, despite the situation which grew direr by the second. With any luck, this whole ordeal would be over soon.  
  
"Yes Sir."  
  
Within mere minutes all three men were on the bridge, anxiously studying the scans. O'Connor was silent as his captain went over them with a critical eye, hoping against all that was honest for Archer to buy his explanation. Finally, Archer and Reed shared a look, and O'Connor's head pounded. That particular kind of look signaled only one thing: a dubious pair of commanding officers. Tiredly, he hoped they would rescue the Commander and SubCommander before punishing him.  
  
"Remind me again, ensign," Archer began, eyeing his crewman carefully. "How you were able to isolate their bio-signs in such detail, and in such a short time?"  
  
Malcolm folded his arms and stared warily at the tall Irishman. Thomas swallowed, and unconsciously assumed T'Pol's standard position, consisting of a ramrod straight spine and hands folded neatly behind his back. Inwardly, Archer was amused. In the little time he had spent with Thomas, it seemed that he looked towards T'Pol with a sort of reverence.  
  
"The SubCommander would have done the most logical thing upon landing, sir," The ensign began nervously.  
  
"She would have stayed in the shuttlepod, but when she started feeling the effects of the atmosphere, she would most likely have searched for higher ground, in the possibility that the atmosphere thinned with an increase in altitude. The closest area of raised land is that hill," he said, indicating the hill on the PADD that Archer held.  
  
"And?" Archer prompted.  
  
Thomas drew a deep breath. "And I believed that is were she would have gone. And also that Commander Tucker would have gone with her. So I stopped the current scans an hour ago and ran more detailed ones on the hill. Then I contacted you, sir." He finished, trembling slightly. To his own ears, it sounded weak. And worse yet, the captain didn't seem convinced.  
  
Seeing the ensign's reaction to his questions, Archer knew he was making Thomas uncomfortable. He quickly broke eye contact and went back to studying the PADD, as he considered what Thomas had said. If it was true, Thomas either had extraordinary luck or was unusually quick-witted and logically-minded, which would be a bit odd for an astrophysicist. Normally, they were not so logical, since astrophysics was such an unpredictable and illogical area, dealing with the abstract. 'Yet,' he mused, 'the kid has been working closely with T'Pol for nearly two years now. It was entirely plausible that some of her rigid logic has rubbed off on him.'  
  
He looked at Malcolm and nodded. The Englishman nodded back curtly and briskly made his way to the turbolift, headed for the transporter. Looking back at Thomas, who seemed slightly more relaxed, the captain favored him with a grin.  
  
"T'Pol's always spoken well of you, O'Connor. I trust her comments weren't undeserved."  
  
The Irishman was a little surprised at this, and he smiled cautiously. Only now did he realize how tired he was. Fighting off a yawn, he gazed blearily at the chronometer. Archer followed his eyes, and grinned. The poor kid had earned some time off.  
  
"Go back to your quarters," he said kindly. "And take the day off. You deserve some rest."  
  
Thomas shook his head. "Thank you sir, but I'd rather wait until they're back onboard. I won't be able to rest until I know they're okay."  
  
Archer nodded understandingly as the ensign once again took a seat at the SubCommander's consol. In kind, he returned to his captain's chair to await Malcolm's inevitable call.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Wrapped entirely in his thoughts, Trip didn't get any rest the rest of that night. He sat opposite the Vulcan woman, watching her sleeping form but not really seeing her. His eyes were wide but unfocused as he replayed the last two years in his mind. Looking back, from the day they'd met to their numerous adventures together, he wondered when exactly he had stopped hating her for her race and began to see her as a woman. It had taken months for them to come to an understanding. He was always challenging her and taken quips at Vulcan culture, she challenging him back and throwing verbal barbs back in his face. Trip remembered there were times he wanted to kill her, and then there was that frightening memory when he almost had.  
  
She had snubbed him, rejected him the moment she saw him; wouldn't let him or anyone else get close. So why had she stayed? Why was she still Enterprise's science officer if she hated them so much? But with a start, he remembered that she had let someone get close: Jon. She and Jon had been off together on more missions than he could remember. Brooding on it as the sky grew pink and purple, he fumed silently. Yet, he wasn't quite sure why he should be so angry. It wasn't like she was dating anyone, and surely she'd never break regulations like that.  
  
'But then again,' the little, snide voice belonging to jealously said, 'those regulations don't apply to her. And look at the way she acts 'round him; side looks an' such.' And Jon had changed too. That man was the worse Vulcan-hater of all time. Or at least, he once had been. Now, he trusted her like a close friend. He kept her secrets, fought to keep her onboard whenever that damn High Command tried to take her away.  
  
Shaking his head, Trip tried to clear his mind of the burning discomfort. Jon wasn't interested in her. If he was, Trip would've known. 'And besides,' he told himself, 'Jon would never ever break regulations like that.' But the jealousy wouldn't be silent. 'Oh no?' It whispered in the dark. 'He's impulsive; he follows his heart. If he wanted her, he'd do whatever it took to get her.' Trip set his jaw and forced the jealousy out of his mind. He returned to his surroundings and he gazed at T'Pol's still form, not realizing that his look was one of longing.  
  
In place of the jealousy, sadness enveloped him. Things had been going so well. She had actually opened up to him, shared things about herself with him. Trip could count on his hands the number of things he knew about T'Pol. And until recently, all his attempts to get to know her better had been carefully skirted or avoided. But here, in just one day, he had learned about her relationship with her father, why she had chosen her career, and that she actually respected him. Although, with the recent turn of events, it was harder to believe that last one.  
  
He simply couldn't understand why she had suddenly turned so cold. Worse yet, he couldn't possibly fathom why it hurt so much. 'After all,' he reasoned, 'she's the ice queen, and I'm the chief engineer. We're colleagues, nothin' more.' But he didn't really believe that. They WERE something more, or at least it seemed like it. Or maybe he wanted them to be something more. The last thought made Trip think long and hard. Was that really what he wanted? Did he want to be closer to T'Pol, to be the person she came to for comfort or advice? Or did he just want a woman in is bed? Trip was not the kind of man to hide things from himself. He knew full well his history with women, but he also knew that there were two common factors in all those failed relationships: easy women and simple lust that turned into indifference on his part.  
  
He was what some people called a womanizer, he knew it. But he had never felt this way about any woman before. Even in his few serious relationships, they had always begun with lust, which became mild attraction, which eventually turned into mild friendship, if that. None of those applied to his relationship with T'Pol. At first, there had been no attraction. She had been the single most disagreeable, arrogant, and stubborn woman to ever come his way. Those faults had almost nearly cancelled out the effects of her good looks him. Secondly, Trip wasn't the kind of guy to go for difficult women. He didn't really need to, as there was always someone who would readily fall into his embrace. And T'Pol was definitely not easy. All in all he hadn't known her more than a week before he decided she was the last person he would ever like, much less date.  
  
But slowly, things between them began to change. A mutual tolerance formed, which later must have turned into respect. But when he had actually started to entertain feelings for her, he honestly didn't know. 'But it's was pointless anyway,' he knew. 'She made it clear that he had over-stepped some boundaries, and besides. She's a Vulcan, and Vulcan's don't have feelings.'  
  
Sighing, returned to the present. His pyre was a massive pile of glowing ash, and the sun's pink and gold rays shone through in beams through the canopy of treetops. Around him, wildlife was moving and he decided it was time to get up. His eyes ached and his back was stiff, but it didn't matter. None of it mattered now, except T'Pol. He had to get her to safety, and Trip made himself focus solely on that. No feelings, no memories could or would interfere with his personal mission. Getting up gingerly, he cautiously crossed the space between his tree and hers.  
  
"T'Pol?" he called softly. She didn't answer. Turned away from him and curled into her blankets, she didn't even stir. Trip knew that Vulcans needed less sleep than humans, but he judged she had slept for over eight hours. She should have been up hours ago. He called her again, louder this time, but again there was no response. Trip was getting worried now, but was unsure of what to do.  
  
It was clear last night that she wanted to go back to their earlier, aloof relationship. And that meant keeping his distance. But if she didn't wake up when he called her, how was he supposed to rouse her? Steeling his nerves and deciding that he was now in charge; Trip boldly crouched down next to her and gently shook her shoulder. Again, there was no response. He frowned and shook her harder to no avail. Starting to panic, Trip took T'Pol into his arms for the second time in twelve hours, turning her dirty face to look at him.  
  
Her eyelids were relaxed but closed, her lips sealed, and her face composed as usual. Trip spoke her name loudly and shook her, but her head rolled unconsciously to the side as her arm fell limply to the wet ground. Terrified, Trip checked for a pulse. When he couldn't find one, shock seized him. She was gone. Dead in the night. He couldn't think, couldn't breathe. She was gone. Dead in her sleep as he had sat a few feet away, watching but not seeing. Emptiness consumed him, and Trip simply could not feel anything. For long moments, he gazed at her placid face. His thoughts were empty but at the same time filled with her. He was bombarded with every little memory, comment, or look associated with her. He didn't know how long he sat there, cradling her in his arms, but movement brought him back to the present. At first he was confused; he couldn't pinpoint the source of the movement. Suddenly, he realized it was coming from her! He froze, waiting to see if it was true. It was! Her chest was moving against his, rising to press into him before falling almost imperceptibly away and then back again, all in a wonderful repetitive motion.  
  
Trip nearly cried with relief. She was alive. Alive and breathing, though just barely. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew this was bad; this was terrible. The end was near. He could almost feel her precious life force draining away, leaving him with an empty shell of the woman she once was. There was nothing he could do to comfort her. He was helpless, and he was lost without her. So, deciding there was only one thing to do, he held her closer (though careful not to restrict her breathing) and touched his forehead to hers. She was burning up, but it comforted Trip to know that she wasn't entirely gone. He still had a few precious moments with her. So he closed his eyes and brought his lips to her mouth. It didn't matter if it was right or wrong. He would never know if what he felt for her was love, as he believed it to be. Very, very gently, he kissed her. He savored the warmth of her full lips, the moist flesh that still was home to her spirit. He held the tears back as he remained silent, determined not to shame her even if it meant denying himself the one thing that would give him peace in the future. She would never know, but he would. And in the lonely nights yet to come, he would cherish the memory of that one chaste kiss, and he would remember her forever.  
  
A/N: Oh, this was tough. If it didn't come out well, I'm sorry. Trying to put these complicated emotions down on paper is difficult work, let me tell you. What did you think? Was it in character? Did I do a good job with thoughts, revelations and feelings? I really really need to know! Give me feedback, critique and/or praise! *Whew* Okay, I think there will be one more chapter for this story, and then I'll move on to the sequel. But here's a hint: the more reviews, the less time it takes me to write the next chapter. It's a standing rule. 


	7. 7

A/N: Okay, here we go! Second to last chapter of this 'fic, or so I think at this point. I've also absolutely decided on a sequel. I just need some time to really formulate it; right now it's a much undeveloped idea swirling around in my head. Also, I want to say thanks to all of you who reviewed! You are the best people in the world. Now, with that said, I proudly present to you chapter 7 of "Of All the Times, Places, and People!"  
  
Malcolm Reed glanced quickly at his wristwatch. It was nearly 0530. He suppressed a yawn as the turbolift came to a stop and the door slid open. Deftly, he maneuvered the hallways as he headed for the transporter. Though he didn't like being in it, operating the machine was relatively simple, resulting in little room for human errors. He came to stand in front of the controls and ran a quick diagnostic, making sure it was in working order. Time was short, but if anything Malcolm was a stickler for protocol. Once it was complete, he called the bridge. With any luck, they would soon have their missing officers back.  
  
"Reed to Archer."  
  
"Go ahead." The captain's strained voice replied.  
  
"The transporter's ready, sir."  
  
"Then get to it, Lieutenant Reed. Remember, get the SubCommander first."  
  
"Aye, sir"  
  
He checked the controls and coordinates one last time, and initiated the sequence.  
  
A shimmering curtain formed over the transporter deck, and as Malcolm checked watched the readings on the consol, he suddenly tensed. There seemed to be an awful lot of planetary debris surrounding T'Pol. In fact, lots of it actually seemed to be INSIDE her. He shook his head. Now was not the time for complications. He increased the power, only to be informed of another problem by an alarm. Glancing quickly at the readings, he saw that Commander Tucker's bio-sign appeared to be very close to T'Pol's. So close, it was like they were touching, and in more places than one.  
  
Malcolm set his jaw. Though his mind was painting vivid, unbidden images in his mind, it didn't matter what they were doing on that planet. The point was, with them so close to each other, the risks of error suddenly increased threefold. It was going to be tricky getting them up completely separate from each other. God knew a tiny slip and they could end up melded together, or something equal horrendous. Very carefully, he adjusted the data stream, tracing the outline where he believed Trip to end and T'Pol to start. Then, he once again increased power. The familiar chiming sound filled the alcove, and a solid body materialized on the floor. Without wasting any time by looking at her, Reed re-aimed the transporter on the human engineer, and brought him up beside the SubCommander.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Trip didn't know how long he had been holding T'Pol, but it didn't really matter. All other thoughts were miles away from his brain, and all he could focus on was the limp but warm body in his arms. But something happened then. T'Pol suddenly felt . . . less than solid. He looked down at her in his arms, eyes wide in horror and shock as she began to glow, lost weight, became transparent, and then finally vanished all together. He couldn't comprehend what was going on, but before he knew it, he was back on Enterprise. It took him a moment to adjust to the darkness, but then he made out the blessedly well-known transporter pad and familiar rounded corridors. He looked up to see Malcolm at the controls, and a medical team headed by Phlox hurrying towards them. Overjoyed as he was at being home, they weren't out of the woods yet.  
  
With a jolt, he whipped his head around, searching for T'Pol. She lay beside him at an awkward angle, as lifeless as she had been on the swampy planet. Dr. Phlox was already running a scanner over her, and giving orders to the crewmen to lift her onto a stretcher. But Trip wouldn't have it.  
  
"I got 'er, Doc."  
  
Phlox ran a quick eye over Tucker, checking to see if he was all in one piece.  
  
"I don't think so, Commander. Now come with us, we need to get you both--- ."  
  
He stopped short as Trip brushed a helping hand away and hauled the petite Vulcan into his arms again. He stood brusquely, ignoring the protests and attempts to take her away. Without a word, he hurried her toward Sickbay, towing the medical team and a slightly peeved Denobulan doctor behind him.  
  
Alone in the room again, Malcolm allowed himself a smile of relief before contacting the captain.  
  
"Reed to the bridge."  
  
"Report, Lieutenant." Archer answered immediately.  
  
"They're on the way to Sickbay, sir."  
  
The relief on the bridge was nearly tangible. Archer shared a smile with Hoshi, who relayed it to Ensign O'Connor, who yawned. Archer stood, stretching his back after hours of tense sitting in his chair.  
  
"Good work, Malcolm. Come back up and take the con. I'll be in Sickbay."  
  
He turned towards the science consol, where Thomas was fighting to keep his eyes open and a semblance of alertness. Archer grinned at him and offered softly,  
  
"If it weren't for you, Thomas, we may never have reached them in time."  
  
Thomas shrugged nonchalantly, though he was secretly beaming with pride and relief.  
  
"I took a guess sir, and I got lucky."  
  
"I think you more than 'got lucky'. Come on, I'm sure the commanders will want to know who's responsible for their rescue."  
  
Archer expected O'Connor to immediately agree, but he was surprised when the man blanched white and shivered slightly. What was he afraid of?  
  
"If you don't mind sir, I'd like to go back to my quarters, once I finish up here."  
  
Archer gave him a quizzical look, trying to decipher what was bothering the brilliant and usually self-assured ensign. But he was needed in Sickbay, so he let it go. If it was anything serious, no doubt he or T'Pol would find out in time. So, he nodded his head and reminded the Irishman about taking the whole day off. As Thomas nodded back and sank into the chair, Archer stepped into the turbolift, genuinely believing that everything would be fine.  
  
But as soon as he got into Sickbay, he knew the whole ordeal was far from over. T'Pol lay motionless on a bio-bed as Phlox ran scans and called out orders to the nurse on duty. Trip was hovering over the bio-bed, refusing to lie down.  
  
"What's going on?" Arched demanded as he came to join them. Phlox looked less than pleased with the arrival of another visitor in his domain.  
  
"As I suspected, she went into a coma. It's a shallow one at this point, but we won't be able to resuscitate her completely unless we get the excess copper out of her lungs." He said shortly.  
  
"So do it!" Trip exclaimed. Archer only now realized that he was holding onto the Vulcan's hand like it was the specs for a warp 7 engine.  
  
"I will, but interruptions make it difficult!" Phlox retorted pointedly. Archer took his point and gently took Trip's arm. To Phlox he asked,  
  
"Is Trip clear to go?"  
  
"Yes, for now." The doctor replied shortly, moving away into a back room briefly.  
  
For a moment it was just Trip, Jon, and T'Pol. Jon was tugging lightly at Trip's arm, trying to get him to come away. He understood why Trip resisted. He was a loyal man, even to people he didn't like too much. But upon closer inspection, Archer noticed that Trip hardly seemed aware of his presence. He just stared at T'Pol, clutching her hand as though his very life depended on it. Scrutinizing his friend's face, Archer saw something he couldn't quite identify. It wasn't like any expression Jon had ever seen him wear. Trip's eyes flamed, despite his obvious fatigue. And his mouth, though drawn firmly into a thin compressed line, had a certain softness about it. Almost a vulnerability, Archer interpreted.  
  
Realization dawned on Archer like a ton of bricks. Something had definitely happened down on that planet. He didn't know how, or when, or why, but the facts remained. Somehow, T'Pol had struck a nerve in Trip, a nerve that had previously been untouched. He was intensely curious and a tiny bit envious, but now wasn't the time to speculate.  
  
"Come on, Trip." He coaxed, careful not to startle his friend. But Trip didn't start at all. Instead, he settled himself on the bed beside T'Pol's and looked up at his captain. He could see the concern in Jon's eyes, but he knew what he had to do.  
  
"No, Cap'm. I'm not leavin' 'till she wakes up an' tells me she's alright."  
  
Archer was a caught a bit off guard. Whether he knew it or not, the Commander's countenance had taken on a subtle hint of steel and determination. His friend couldn't fathom why, but he knew better than to force the issue. Whatever reasons Trip had were valid, of that he was sure. And no doubt in time he would find out what those reasons were.  
  
In response, Archer nodded his head and turned to Phlox, who was returning from the back room wheeling a very large plastic half-cylinder. He was preoccupied and seemed to have forgotten the two men were there until he came to stand in front of them.  
  
"I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave now, sirs."  
  
"I'll go, doctor, but Trip is staying." The captain said. As the Denobulan was about to protest, he held up a hand and gave him a commanding glare.  
  
"He's staying, Doctor. Maybe he can give you a hand."  
  
Phlox sighed impatiently. They didn't have time for this. With a huff, he nodded his consent. As Archer left the facility, he heard Phlox say to Trip,  
  
"Help me get her into this."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Trip barely registered the fact that Jon was leaving. He was filling up the half-cylinder with warm water, as Phlox had directed. Turned away from the doctor and the unconscious woman, Trip couldn't see anything. But he wasn't quite sure he wanted to. From his position a few feet away, he could hear everything. The clinking of metal instruments being moved around, the sound of PADD keys being punched. And then there were a few other distinct sounds that Trip couldn't place. Curiosity and worry overpowered him and he was forced to turn back. Almost instantly, he retracted his gaze with a wince.  
  
Phlox had stuck clear plastic tubes into T'Pol's ribs. Each tube was hooked up at the other end to a machine Trip had never seen before. Running an assessing eye over it as the tank filled, he guessed it was a pump of some kind. 'A pump?' he wondered. 'Why on earth would they need a pump?' His attention was drawn back to the cylinder, which was now full. Carefully and slowly, he wheeled back to the bio-bed where the Vulcan lay. The doctor was reading the monitor above her head, eye shuttling back and forth at an impressive speed. Seeing the Commander out of the corner of his eye, he nodded and grabbed a mask.  
  
"What's the tank an' mask for?" Trip asked as the doctor secured it over T'Pol's nose and mouth.  
  
"Before the fluid is pumped out of her lungs, she needs to be submerged. It will make the extraction faster and easier, not to mention less traumatic for her body." Phlox explained absently, running quick last-minute checks for any overlooked complications. Trip swallowed hard and looked down at T'Pol's placid face.  
  
"You mean, you're gonna drain her lungs with those tubes?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Won't that hurt 'er?" He asked worriedly.  
  
"She's in no condition to feel anything, and it's the only way. Now, please lift her into the tank."  
  
Trip clamped his mouth shut to keep the flow of questions from escaping. They had to do this now, so he got to work. Picking T'Pol up and gently sliding her into the warm water, he did as he was told. Reluctantly, he let go of her hand, watching as it gracefully floated down to join the rest of her body. Absorbed in studying her, Trip jumped as the unmistakable sound of pumping reached his ears. Queasily, he could see the murky, viscous, coppery-green fluid traveling lazily up the tubes from her lungs. It just kept coming and coming, a never-ending stream of sticky-looking goo.  
  
Trip's head swam and before he knew it, he was on his knees, level with T'Pol. Phlox had grabbed his arm, but Trip stubbornly resisted. He was going to stay, no matter what. He owed her at least that much. Shaking his head, he muttered weakly,  
  
"I'm okay, Doc. Just lemme sit for a bit."  
  
Phlox sighed. "In any other circumstance, Commander, I wouldn't allow it. But seeing as this means so much to you, I'll make a concession." He let go and went back to monitor T'Pol's readings. It was extraordinary, really. Her lungs were filled to nearly 66%, and yet she still had only gone into a shallow coma. Inwardly, he knew it was very fortunate. She should have been dead hours ago, yet it seemed likely she would survive. The uninformed friend in him was content with that, but the physician wondered what had been the fateful event or need that had kept her alive. Surely it had taken a conscious effort not to succumb entirely to the slow suffocation. He shook his head at the wonder of it. If anyone could sustain herself by sheer willpower, it was T'Pol.  
  
Satisfied with the rate of drainage, Phlox took advantage of the time by checking her other vital stats. She still had a fever, but it wasn't life- threatening. And thankfully, neither she nor Commander Tucker had picked up any pathogens. For the first time in days, Phlox smiled. With her marvelous physiology, T'Pol was almost certain to recover with minimal lasting effects. At worst, she would have a lingering cough that would be a mild nuisance for a few days as her body expelled the last remnants of fluid. Glancing back at the cylinder, he caught sight of Commander Tucker. His hands were clasped and he was unusually silent. Phlox vaguely noted that the Commander seemed strangely protective of the SubCommander. Mentally, he marked off a list. Insisting on carrying her to Sickbay; refusal to comply with medical orders to be able to remain close to her, and staying to observe her treatment. He had even held her hand for a good period of time! Unsure what to make of it, Phlox filed the information away for later study and resumed his inspection of T'Pol's bio-signs.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
That day, for the first time since he was a boy, Trip prayed. He sat quietly by T'Pol's side as the fluid was pumped out of her lungs and was overcome by the need to do something, anything. On impulse, he had begun reciting an old, well-known prayer from childhood Sunday school. After that, he had recited all the prayers he knew, and when his list was exhausted, he simply made up his own. Trip had never been a very religious man. He had his morals and code of conduct like any other man, but religion and God were two things that more often than not put him ill at ease. Perhaps it was because God couldn't be explained by natural laws. As an engineer, Trip relied on and loved those laws. So consequentially, he rarely took religion into consideration.  
  
But now, it was strangely comforting. Awkward at first, but eventually he just let it all go. He prayed for T'Pol and for himself, and for the situation he both feared and longed for. When his eyes finally opened some time later, he welcomed the cleansing feeling of peace that filled the inner depths of his being. Vaguely, he wondered if T'Pol felt this way when she meditated.  
  
The thought of T'Pol instantly brought him back to his surroundings. Wincing as his back cramped, he looked up into the tube. He was surprised to see it emptied, both of water and Vulcan. He stood carefully, shaking his legs to get some feeling back into them. Glancing around, he saw Dr. Phlox's silhouette behind one of the white gauzy curtains. He loped over, parting the fabric to get a glimpse of the Vulcan woman. She lay peacefully on the bio-bed, arms folded on her abdomen. Her hair was damp and her face still glowed with fever, but it didn't really matter.  
  
Trip felt a huge swell of joy, pride and relief when he saw the steady, strong rhythm of her breathing. Stripped of her uniform and clad in her typical grey underpinnings; Trip was able to fully appreciate her newly- restored health. Her chest rose and fell in a relaxed, effortless motion. The sound was quiet and natural, not bearing any trace of the raspy wheezes and thundering coughs she'd suffered through.  
  
"How---?" Trip left the question unfinished, not quite sure what he wanted to know first. And besides, he was far too preoccupied to really listen to what Phlox was saying. Then he became aware of some background noise. 'What was that? Oh right, an answer.' He told himself sheepishly.  
  
"-Been out of the cylinder for nearly an hour. I felt it best not to disturb you. You looked like you were concentrating quite hard."  
  
"Huh? Oh, yeah . . . yeah I was. Will she wake up soon?"  
  
"Oh I don't know," The Denobulan sighed. Really, he couldn't understand how the Commander was still awake. It was nearly 1130, and clearly the man hadn't slept at all the previous night. Clearly he was just as stubborn as T'Pol.  
  
"But she'll be alright? She'll recover?" Trip persisted anxiously.  
  
"Yes yes, I've no doubt she'll make a full recovery. She's still in a shallow coma, but she'll come out of it on her own once her body has regained most of its normalcy." Looking at Tucker, who had taken a seat on the edge of the bed and once again had entwined his hands in one of T'Pol's, Phlox gently added,  
  
"It may take a few hours, Commander. Why don't you get some rest, hm?"  
  
"Only if I can stay here, Doc. I told ya I'm not leavin' 'till she wakes up and tells me she's alright, and that's what I'm gonna do."  
  
Phlox shook his head at the obstinacy of the young engineer. He left the curtained space, leaving the two alone. Deciding it was time to debrief the captain, he wondered why of all the people on the ship the two most stubborn were both in his sickbay.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Trip woke some time later, staring up at a pristine white ceiling. Confused, he sat up hastily and nearly fell off the narrow bio-bed. Cursing himself, he wondered how he'd gotten onto the bed in the first place. The last thing he could remember was sitting by . . .  
  
"Be careful, Commander. It would be most ironic if you were to injure yourself in Sickbay." A dry, vaguely humored voice said.  
  
Trip nearly lost his balance again as he wrenched his body over to the other side, staring at the site before him as though he'd never seen anything so beautiful in his life. There, a yard away, was T'Pol. She was sitting up in the bio-bed, leaning against a full pillow as she read from a large, well-worn volume. Her skin was dry and luminous, and her eyes had cleared and returned to their normal deeply striking shade of walnut brown. An amused expression was traced onto her immaculate features, and Trip found himself unable to speak due to the tightening of his throat.  
  
Upon seeing his expression, which was a mix of elation, surprise, and awe, T'Pol felt something surge through her. The sensation, she decided, wasn't unpleasant. She was aware that it was he who had invoked such a response, but she was quite. .. happy . . .that he didn't seem hurt or angry after her rebukes on the planet. Or worse yet, indifferent. Without realizing it, her expression softened. Just over a day ago, she had believed that restraining these new emotions though meditation was the only option she had. But upon waking to find her hand clasped within both of his, she knew that she couldn't really do that. Performing the kohlinar was an option, but wasn't available to her readily. And something told her that it may be quite difficult to expel those feelings.  
  
Besides, she didn't want to leave Enterprise, or her chief engineer. Illogical and groundless as it was, she somehow had the feeling that Tucker truly cared for her. Her only evidence of this was his totally uncharacteristic behavior on the surface prior to her journey into darkness, but she couldn't shake the hope that gripped her heart. And then to have found herself in Sickbay with him resting at the side of her bed was like being reborn.  
  
No, she decided, she had handled herself badly. Commander Tucker had been honest with her and had proven his trustworthiness long ago. He deserved better than a sudden 'cold shoulder', as the humans put it. Though she wouldn't make any final decisions or declarations until she had ascertained his true regard, she would endeavor to rekindle the closer bond that had begun to form under their difficult circumstances. After all, she had nothing to lose by getting closer to him. She would do it gradually and carefully, but she knew that it was possible. And that it was what she truly wanted.  
  
"Commander?" she asked softly. Her head was slightly inclined and one winged brow was raised in mild concern. Trip blinked and cleared his throat, embarrassed at being caught off-guard and staring. But remembering her words and actions on in the swamp, he was careful not to show too much emotion in front of her, lest she be made uncomfortable again.  
  
He smiled hesitantly. "Hey," he offered as a greeting. "How're you feeling?"  
  
"Well, thank you."  
  
"No more coughin' fits? Pain?" This time he couldn't quite hide the concern, either in his voice or his face. Privately, T'Pol gave thanks to the powers that be.  
  
"I was in pain for several hours after I had woken. The doctor decided administering medication at the time was--."  
  
"Whoa, wait a minute there," Trip interrupted, waving a large, calloused hand in front of her. "When you awoke? Ya mean you've been awake for a while?"  
  
"Yes, for nearly ten hours."  
  
For the first time since coming to live among humans, T'Pol finally understood what they meant by a 'priceless' expression. She turned back to her book briefly to hide her amusement at his sake.  
  
"Then I've been asleep." He concluded.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"For ten hours."  
  
"Possibly longer. I was told that the captain came to see us, and both he and Dr. Phlox found you unconscious beside my bio-bed. Though I can't understand why you weren't taken to your quarters."  
  
Trip's cheeks bloomed as his eyes roamed, searching for a place other than her to rest them. The Vulcan waited patiently, knowing full well that he would soon give in and tell her. Eventually, he muttered something incomprehensible.  
  
"I beg your pardon?" She replied.  
  
"I told 'em I wasn't leavin' until you'd woken up and told me you were okay."  
  
She regarded him curiously, and Trip couldn't bear to meet that engulfing gaze. He was afraid of rejection again. Things had been going well up until now, but he wasn't sure what he'd do if the look in her eyes was flat, unfeeling, or contemptuous. He was startled when she spoke, though it was so soft it could easily have been a whisper.  
  
"I appreciate your troubles. I believe you may leave now."  
  
He looked at her again, this time harder. He'd heard a hint of the same T'Pol he'd begun to know on the surface; he wanted to make sure of it before jumping to any conclusions. Her eyes were soft, free of the terrible emptiness they'd previously held. And her face was relaxed to a degree that Trip knew she wasn't hiding behind Vulcan protocols. It took quite a bit of effort to keep himself from leaping with jubilation. The engineer restrained himself and to her, in almost Vulcan fashion, offered a tiny genuine grin.  
  
"How 'bout you? Are you clear too?"  
  
"Yes. I stayed because I thought you might like to see me when you awoke." At another of Trip's priceless expressions, she shyly continued. "I owe you an apology. Yesterday, I was . . . confused," she stopped abruptly at Trip took her hand again. His grip was loose, allowing her to pull away if she wished. But when she didn't he tightened it.  
  
"Forget about it." He told her.  
  
"I feel it should be said," T'Pol stated, preparing to continue.  
  
"Tomorrow. It's late and we've both been through a lot. And I know yer just dyin' to get to your quarters for some privacy."  
  
She looked ready to initiate one of their famous verbal fencing matches, which gave the man hope. But Trip was already standing, which indicated she should stand too. Unfortunately, a culmination of her recent near-death experience and several hours in bed caused her to stagger into Trip's willing arms. Careful to hide the ridiculous grin on his face, Trip set her back on her feet, but kept a steadying arm around her slender waist.  
  
T'Pol, not about to be seen in such a state while walking back to her quarters, tried to shrug him off. But again, she tilted to the side and had to be steadied.  
  
"C'mon now, SubCommander. I won't hurt you."  
  
"I will not let myself be seen leaning on another person. In a few moments I'll be perfectly capable of going by myself." She retorted quickly.  
  
Trip shook his head as a distinctly evil mischief twinkled in his eyes. T'Pol sensed something was about to happen that she wouldn't like.  
  
"Now, T'Pol," Trip began seriously. "We can do this one of two ways. Either you'll let me help you to your quarters like this, or . . ."  
  
Though she knew what was coming, T'Pol decided to humor him. Just this once, she promised herself.  
  
"Or?" She inquired innocently.  
  
"Or, I can knock you out an' carry you all the way."  
  
"You would never harm me." She told him arrogantly.  
  
Trip's grin remained as he agreed, "You're right, I wouldn't."  
  
A/N Continued: Wow, a long one! Okay, there has been a serious drop in reviews. I've given you people two big, important chapters and you have no comments? Critique? True, there've been a ton of updates on FF.Net recently, but that's no excuse! LEAVE REVIEWS!!!! 


	8. 8

A/N: Okay, here we go! Last chapter! I just wanted to take the time to thank all my readers, reviewers and non-reviewers alike. It's always hard for me to end stories; particularly ones that I'm exceptionally fond of. So bear with me if this end is of a lower quality than you expect or if it's not really fitting. I'm only 17- I don't know too much about writing! Oh, and Nikitee? I don't know what T'Pol was reading. Maybe some relaxing philosophy? I purposefully leave little details like that open because I think it allows the reader to add his/her own personal touches, thus making it more believable and enjoyable for him/her. Okay, ready? This is it!  
  
They reached her quarters quickly, and thankfully the corridors had been unusually empty. Trip stepped inside the darkened room with the Vulcan leaning on him. Carefully, he moved to the bed and let her slide off his arm onto it. Adjusting to the quality of light, he could see that she was relieved to be back in her own space. The way her hands roamed appreciatively over the blankets and the quick checks to make sure the room was undisturbed were small and discreet, but Tucker knew her well enough by now to know she didn't ever make any unnecessary movements.  
  
Now that they were actually here, he no longer had a purpose or reason to stay with her. Trip's eyes roamed over the little cabin, trying somehow to derive a reason to remain. But T'Pol noticed and quickly called him on it.  
  
"Are you looking for something, Mr. Tucker?"  
  
Caught and off-balance, Trip fumbled. "Um, no . . . I was just checkin' to make sure yer . . . uh, ventilation system's working alright. There were some problems before we went planetside."  
  
If T'Pol knew he was lying through his teeth, she allowed him to keep his dignity and said nothing. Although, now that he mentioned it, there was something different in the air. She couldn't quite place it, but there was a lingering hint of a smell. 'A human smell.' She realized in wonder. But what human besides the Commander and Captain had ever been inside her quarters?  
  
"So, does it feel alright to you? The thermostat and everything?" Trip asked absently.  
  
"Actually, it is slightly cooler than I would prefer." She responded, surprising him.  
  
"Really? Seems just fine to me. 22 degrees Celsius?" Trip walked over to the vent in the corner of the room and held a hand up over it.  
  
"My idea of a comfortable temperature is higher than yours." T'Pol informed him.  
  
"I don't get it; doesn't it get cold in the desert at night?" He called. He was now in the bathroom.  
  
"It is never below 25 degrees, even on the coolest nights." She returned, still seated on the bed. Her inability to place the lingering smell was beginning to trouble her.  
  
Trip came back out, grinning knowingly. "So that's why ya never wear anything but that full-body suit."  
  
"Yes. Space is cold; naturally our garments are designed to keep us warm."  
  
"So you don't wear those long robes on Vulcan?"  
  
"We do, but we don't have to." T'Pol answered. She cocked her head at him in a way that was all her own, and curiously asked a question of her own.  
  
"Why are you so eager to know about such trivial things?"  
  
Trip shrugged and scratched at the stubble on his jaw.  
  
"I've always been curious, but you Vulcans are a little hard to approach, if you know what I mean."  
  
"I am difficult to approach?" She clarified. There was no hint of animosity in her voice, but out of habit and instinct Trip backpedaled. After all they'd gone through; he didn't want to offend her now.  
  
"No! Not you, well, not anymore . . . I mean, it's just-" He shut up, silenced by the imperious yet causal manner in which she raised her hand. The engineer stared at her helplessly.  
  
"There is no need to explain, Commander. I understand you may have been intimidated by me during the early days of our acquaintance." Again, there was no emotion behind her pleasant voice; just simple understanding. But it Trip's opinion, it was too MUCH understanding. His eyes narrowed as he prepared to defend himself and all human males.  
  
"Now wait just a minute, I never said anythin' about bein' intimidated."  
  
Again, she cocked an eyebrow at him. The simple movement both endeared her to him and fueled his defense-born irritation, although he wasn't sure who he should be more irritated with: her for correctly guessing or himself for being living proof of her callous statement. In any case, the truth of the matter was she didn't believe him. A year ago, Trip would have fought with her over it, if only to have an excuse for one of their verbal fencing matches he enjoyed so much. But now, today, this very moment, he looked beyond himself and saw that she was tired. He sighed and tried to get back to the original conversation.  
  
"Anyway, my point was, I never got a chance ta get some a' my questions answered.  
  
"Doesn't the database contain the information you want?"  
  
"I already tried it. There's nothing in there about customs or things that don't relate to work of some kind."  
  
T'Pol was surprised. Commander Tucker, the second most vocal critic of her race in her acquaintance, had just said he was interested in her customs. She had never imagined it, never conceived of the possibility that he could have a genuine, persistent interest that wasn't related to women or machinery. And here he was, standing in her quarters, telling her that he'd like to learn more about Vulcans.  
  
"I would be happy to remedy that situation, given that your questions are . . . appropriate.  
  
He grinned at her impishly. "I dunno, what's your definition of appropriate?" He had said that deliberately, wanting to see that priceless womanly-yet-entirely-Vulcan look of scant tolerance. And though she did reward him with it, Trip knew it was time to go and leave her in peace before he got on her nerves.  
  
The engineer chuckled deep in his throat. "No, don't answer that. I won't bother you anymore tonight."  
  
She looked away from him, gazing out at the darkness of space through her window. Softly, she replied, "Thank you for assisting me, Commander. Both tonight and for the past two days."  
  
Trip's cheeks bloomed unseen in the dimmed light of T'Pol's cabin, and a small, almost shy smile graced is lips. "Your always welcome, T'Pol. I hope you know that."  
  
The SubCommander didn't know what to say. His pheromones told her plenty about how he was feeling at the moment, but she didn't know what the correct response to such a declaration was. And the subtle undertones signified that it was in fact a declaration, of friendship if nothing else. As a return gesture, she regally nodded her head. Trip excused himself and made his way towards the engine room, whistling a cheerful southern tune.  
  
Meanwhile, T'Pol was settling herself down onto her meditation mat, preparing for some much needed concentration and mental quiet time. And just as she had become comfortable and was moments away from reaching her inner sanctum, the chime of her doorbell sounded. Slowly opening her eyes, the lithe Vulcan stretched beneath her soft, spacious robe. 'Most likely the captain.' She thought. Sighing silently, she called out,  
  
"Enter."  
  
But to her surprise, it wasn't the captain who stood nervously in her door. Rather, it was Ensign O'Connor, her 'wing-man', as humans referred people in such relationships. T'Pol had singled him out from the start of the mission as an exceptionally intelligent and respectable human. Through their countless hours together examining or discussing various aspects of science, she had learned that he was quite mature and responsible for a man his age (and for a human as well). And he was also the only human she knew who treated her as another human. Though a superior human, given her superior rank. He never made references to her race, or became offended at her suggestions of bettering himself. He took all the she said in stride and tried to incorporate it into his daily routine. And for that, T'Pol had to respect him. But all this rushed past her mind as she instantly recognized his scent. O'Connor had been in her quarters. Why?  
  
She looked at him hard, wondering if her understanding of the ensign's character had somehow been compromised. Thomas squirmed under her intense scrutiny, and he truly hoped he'd be able to tell her before she guessed the reason for his late visit. Like a queen addressing a peasant, T'Pol gracefully extended her hand, gesturing for him to take a seat opposite her. Haltingly, he did so.  
  
T'Pol regarded Thomas for a quick moment, taking in everything with a quick study of his form. He was sweating and trembling; his eyes that normally had no difficulty meeting hers were suddenly fixed on the thick candle between them. He looked tired and ashamed. T'Pol couldn't begin to guess what had reduced him to his current state of humility and brokenness, and felt a surge of pity. But there was still the issue of him being in her quarters, alone and uninvited while she was away. And despite the improbability of it, the logic reigned supreme over her mind. Deciding to get to the point, she opened with a not unkind but serious,  
  
"Would you mind telling me why you were in my quarters while I was away, ensign?"  
  
Thomas's dark eyes slowly looked up to hers, and there she could see both shame and relief pooling in them. He sat straight and tall, as he always did in her presence, and replied,  
  
"SubCommander, I believed it was necessary to use any and all means of returning you and Commander Tucker to Enterprise." He said calmly.  
  
"That doesn't explain why you entered a superior's private quarters. If I'm not mistaken, such an offense can be used as grounds for a severe reprimand."  
  
Thomas swallowed and continued, "I'm aware of that, ma'am. I acted alone, and only for the purpose of finding you."  
  
T'Pol regarded him contemplatively, and Thomas visibly stilled himself. After a moment, she asked,  
  
"What exactly did you do, ensign?"  
  
The astrophysicist took a deep breath and absently smoothed down the front of his uniform. "I made upgrades to the sensors."  
  
"Then I assume you came here, accessed highly classified Vulcan information and incorporated it into Enterprise's main computer?" Her expression was unreadable, but her voice was hard and sharp as a facet-cut diamond.  
  
His voice was strong as he verified her conclusion. "Yes, SubCommander. I took the book you once showed me and ran the text through the translation matrix. I then applied the modifications during the graveyard shift and deactivated them an hour later after I'd pinpointed your bio-signs. I then erased all traces of the modifications and destroyed them."  
  
The woman's beautiful face, lit up alluringly by the deep-seated flame in her large candle, was still. No emotion was betrayed at all. To Thomas, it seemed that she wasn't even alive. Then, slowly and with an effortlessly controlled slowness that marveled the man, she stood and fetched the book he had described. Leafing through it, she knew at least that portion of the story was true: the book still smelled like him. She appraised him again.  
  
"Yon ran this entire volume through the translation matrix." She reiterated, knowing very well that it would be nearly impossible for him to have done so. Logically, he would have taken it to Ensign Sato, who may or may not have known his intentions. T'Pol should have been irritated with him for lying to her, but she was relieved. His efforts to protect the ensign and assign the entirety of the blame on himself were honorable and appropriate. Indeed, T'Pol expected no less from him. At Thomas' nod, T'Pol reflected, thinking on what she should do.  
  
The situation really wasn't as serious as he thought it was, but that was to her advantage. What he had done was still a major breech in protocol, but it had been a good judgment call on his part. If faced with a similar situation, she wasn't sure if she wouldn't have done the same. She had come to her decision. Snapping the book shut with authority, she returned her dark, piercing gaze to her subordinate.  
  
"You know that I should report this incident to Captain Archer, and that you should at the very least receive a serious reprimand that will appear on your permanent record."  
  
Thomas nodded his head curtly. He was prepared for whatever punishment they deemed appropriate. "Yes ma'am, I'm aware of that, just as I was aware of it when I entered your cabin and made the modifications."  
  
"Then you will fully appreciate your good fortune, as I will not be reporting this incident."  
  
The Irishman's jaw fell, and he was honestly struck dumb. T'Pol felt a mild satisfaction at his reaction, and pressed on.  
  
"However, a punishment is still warranted. You will spend the next two months working with the junior crewmembers in the science lab, helping them develop their skills and improve their knowledge of the correlation between the sciences." She finished calmly.  
  
T'Pol knew this was a just punishment. Thomas was overqualified for the assignment she'd given him, and that made it a punishment. However, he would benefit from the teaching experience, as would the other crewmen. And it was also plausible enough that the Captain and Starfleet wouldn't look into it further.  
  
Thomas gazed at the woman with a level of respect that he'd never felt towards any other person. She was saving his career! Even after what he'd done! Perhaps she felt that she owed him a favor, or maybe she was just really, really nice. Or maybe it was just logic working in his favor. The ensign continued to contemplate his good luck as he left the darkened cabin, not fully out of his daze. Alone and in peace again, T'Pol indulged herself in a small, inward smile. It was rather amusing and quite ironic that a man so intelligent could be so easily fooled. He believed that he'd seen truly advanced, classified schematics, when in reality Starfleet advanced engineering students had been studying them for years. They were only scanner designs for old freighters which weren't even used outside Vulcan space. But he didn't need to know that. Mentally, the Vulcan scientist shook her head at it. Apparently, folly wasn't restricted to simple minds.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Jonathon prowled the darkened corridors that night, unable to sleep yet again. But this time, he wasn't worried as a captain; he was worried as a friend. That display of Trip's in Sickbay that morning had puzzled and intrigued him, while at the same time stirring up a fear for his old friend. Though he knew quite a bit about Trip's track record with women, he'd seen enough examples of love and infatuation to know the difference. And the scary thing was; Trip was acting like he loved their science officer.  
  
If T'Pol had been anything but Vulcan, Jon wouldn't feel this way. Though regulations still prohibited romantic relationships aboard Starfleet vessels, they had become so lax and outdated that there were serious talks of redrafting them. Starfleet was beginning to realize that you can't prevent life, even on a starship. But of course, didn't know about the discussions back home, and as far as he was concerned, they were just a formality anyway. He was content to let relationships form, as long as they didn't interfere with duties.  
  
But as he made his leisurely way down into the heart of the ship, the tightness and sense of apprehension wouldn't leave his mind. He considered both Trip and T'Pol as his good friends, but he honestly couldn't see how they could make a relationship work. Both were extremely stubborn and set in their ways (although T'Pol had been forced to confront some major issues within her society, there was no doubt that she remained entirely Vulcan), not to mention they had the uncanny knack of knowing exactly what would set the other off.  
  
And however impossible he told himself it was, Archer knew that if any two people could beat the statistics, it was those two. Trip, he knew from years of friendship, cared deeply about only a handful of things. And if T'Pol was one of those blessed few, he would have a long, hard time letting go of her, if he let go of her at all. T'Pol, on the other hand, he was less certain of. Yes, he knew very well that despite her culture's stubborn refusal to acknowledge their emotions, they felt. And she in particular felt deeply. Oh, she hid it very well. He'd only glimpsed it once or twice, but that meant that somewhere beneath all her layers of duty, culture, upbringing, and heritage, she was a woman through and through, with the ability to sympathize, empathize, and possibly even love.  
  
In fact, it was because he'd only briefly seen behind her outer appearance that Jon realized how little he really knew about her, which increased the possibility that T'Pol could reciprocate Trip's feelings.  
  
Archer passed through the doors directly in front of him, stepping across the threshold of Tucker's domain. Turning his eyes up expectantly, he saw the familiar broad shoulders and sandy-brown hair. 'Of course,' the captain thought to himself with a grin, 'Trip wouldn't have been able to sleep without ensuring that his precious engines were in top shape.' He called out amiably, "Shouldn't you be resting, or something?"  
  
Trip turned around, surprised to find Archer below him on the deck. With the usual grin, he loped down the steep stairway, coming down to the floor. He looked good, Archer noted. Happy with the state of things, no doubt, but also . . . he didn't know the words to describe it, but Trip definitely was different. The change was so subtle it was almost impossible to pinpoint, but it was there nonetheless.  
  
"Ya know me, cap'n. Couldn't sleep so I figured I'd catch up on some work."  
  
The captain chuckled and said, "You sound like T'Pol."  
  
He hadn't meant to mention her, at least not directly by name, but Jon had momentarily forgotten himself. Now, though, he carefully watched the expression on Trip's face. He was amused and his eyes twinkled, like a kid keeping a special secret. In that instant, Archer knew this was serious. This wasn't like the southerner's previous 'encounters' with alien women, or even human women. For some reason, T'Pol had distinguished herself from all the others to him, and there was no turning back.  
  
Archer sighed and clapped a companionable hand on Trip's shoulder, thinking hard about how to address this.  
  
"Come on. Chef made pecan pie in your honor." He said with a knowing grin. Trip's face lit up and he replied,  
  
"Well why didn't you say so in the first place?!"  
  
Their late-night snack was their first one of their man to man, friend to friend talks in a long time. Sometimes things got so hectic, it was hard to have relaxed conversations. Lasting for over two hours, they caught up on funny stories, ship rumors, with plenty of reflection on the side. Trip finished off his second piece of the syrupy pie and sat back, content to nurse his beverage. Though their conversation had been relaxed and friendly, Archer was a little anxious. He wanted to address the issue of Trip and T'Pol, but he didn't want to put Trip on edge. And being well acquainted with his friend's temper, he knew that one wrong word could set off a chain reaction.  
  
"So how was it down there?" He asked softly, hoping that Trip would open up without much prying on his part.  
  
"'Wasn't so bad at first." Trip began, staring down into the dregs of his drink. "The first day, I thought only I was hurt, and not even that bad. I spent the day tryin' ta figure out what had happened, and how to get the beacon workin'". Trip paused, not really wanting to remember the next part. But the captain was waiting, and he'd have to give a report some time anyway.  
  
"You two didn't argue? I'm pretty sure there was a poll running on how long it would take you to kill each other." Archer told him, draining his beer.  
  
Trip shook his head, partly in humor, partly in nervousness. How could he tell the captain about what they'd been through together? Did he have the authority to disclose what T'Pol had told him about herself? Should he even tell Jon how he felt about her? 'No.' He decided dejectedly. Much as he wanted to share his joy at finally finding an exceptional, interesting woman, it was too dangerous. Jon was the captain, and he had responsibilities to make sure there was no fraternization onboard. Clearing his head, he pressed on with the story.  
  
"We haven't had a big argument for months now. I don't know. Maybe she was makin' an effort to be nice. Anyway, we decided ta climb a nearby hill the next day, thinking that maybe the beacon would work better where it wasn't so wet. It wasn't too much later that I noticed T'Pol was havin' trouble. I guess she'd had it all along, but at that point it was so bad she couldn't hide it from me."  
  
"How bad?" Archer asked, knowing how frightened Trip must have been.  
  
"Terrible. I've never seen 'er so vulnerable an' weak." He shuddered at the memory. It was still too recent for his liking, and he was suddenly struck by the urge to go check on her. Not realizing that he'd sunk into himself, Trip said no more. He stared at his hands, not seeing them, or anything in the room. Archer knew he was re-living the ordeal, watching every painful, frightening moment of it.  
  
He leaned forward and gently shook the Commander, bringing him out of the awful memories. He decided now to address the controversial issue, because he knew it was on Trip's mind.  
  
"You know Trip, when we got you back, I noticed something."  
  
"Yeah?" Trip replied absently.  
  
"I've never seen you so protective of anyone before. It surprised me especially because there used to be a lot of hostility between you and her. I was wondering; how long have you felt this way?" Archer said nothing more, allowing Trip a little time to process that. He knew that in situations such as this, it was often better to leave as much unspoken as possible.  
  
Trip, hearing the implied question in the captain's voice, froze in fear. 'Shitshitshit!' he thought frantically. 'Dammit, he knows! Oh crap . . . not good Tucker, not good!' He took a shaky breath, and desperately tried to assemble an excuse.  
  
"It's nothin', really. I was just so worried after she went into a coma . . . I couldn't just leave . . ." He looked hopelessly at his commanding officer, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that he didn't buy it. Jon was smart and observant; it was futile to try to keep things from him. Furious with himself for being so obvious, Trip missed the kindness in Archer's face.  
  
"Trip," stated, forcing the reluctant engineer to face him. "I don't know what happened, and I don't want to. As long as you both want it and keep it off-duty, I don't have a problem with it."  
  
Trip was silent. A suckered feeling reminiscent of the time he'd been thrown off a bucking horse at a state fair came over him, and he couldn't for the life of him utter a single coherent sentence.  
  
"But . . . you can't . . . I mean we can't . . . it's against everythin' . . ." Finally, flustered at his own inability to articulate and Archer's wry smile, he choked out.  
  
"Are ya crazy? It's completely against regulations!"  
  
"Would it have stopped you if I'd forbidden it?" his friend inquired.  
  
"Hell no! But at least you woulda done yer job!" Trip retorted animatedly.  
  
Archer sat back and rested both hands flat on the table. "In this case, I'd rather keep a friend than make a few lives miserable over a stupid rule. Just keep it quiet, and you won't hear anything from me."  
  
Words couldn't express Trip's gratitude and fierce loyalty. He'd follow this good man into hell itself. And though he remained silent, the look on his face was enough thanks for Archer. Standing and taking his glass to the clean-up drawers, he called over his shoulder, "Get some sleep tonight. I expect to see you bright and early tomorrow."  
  
Trip grinned and fought off a monster yawn. "Yessir. G'night cap'n."  
  
"Goodnight Trip."  
  
It took a few moments in the silence for Trip to realize just how lucky he was. He had a friend who'd overruled regulations for him, and a chance with the woman who really mattered to him. Bouncing up cheerfully, he strode down the emptied corridors to his quarters. He was going to make the best of both relationships, and he was going to start by making sure that a certain Vulcan wouldn't be on any away-missions for a while.  
  
The End . . . or is it The Beginning?  
  
A/N: Yeah, definitely need to write a sequel. So, how was this? I confess I'm especially in need of reviews now, since I've read a number of exceedingly good stories lately and I feel pretty juvenile and untalented (Alison Dobell, I've just read Attraction, and since Trip/T'Polers wouldn't let me review, I'll just say it here. I've actually been meaning to read your work for months now, but simply haven't had the time. Today, I decided to finally do it, and wow! Your talent is extraordinary. Your way with words and phrases is nothing short of genius, and I really can't articulate my awe of your work. Have you ever had anything published? Because if you haven't, I seriously suggest you find an agent and write a novel. You could live off the royalties, I'm sure. I'll be visiting your website soon, I promise! And I'll give you even more praise.) Just indulge a poor teenager and leave a kind review, would you? Please? 


End file.
